Even though I'm broken, will you accept me?
by DragonRyuuji
Summary: Debra Morgan is broken. Dexter doesn't know how to help her but he knows that he has to keep her safe. That is, even if it means he has to get rid of a future he had wanted to experience. But what happens when Debra becomes so messed up even Dexter can't understand it? (Rated M for language, violence and later sexual content. Occasional dark themes.)
1. Chapter 1

A Dexter / Debra story which I will continue. Contains both angst, later explicit content and murder. Read at your own choice.

* * *

"You can stay here tonight." Hannah grinned softly, placing a hand on Dexter's shoulder. He shook his head with faltering eyes, looking down for a short time.

"I can't. I have something I must do." He replied, his voice low.

"Are you visiting Debra at the hospital?" Hannah asked him with a look of sympathy on her face, and Dexter looked back up at her. He shook his head again. "Estrada?" She asked, and again, he shook his head.

"No. He'll have to wait. I put off the deal with him, and he's up to meet me in a few days." He said, almost whispering. He moved around Hannah, placing a hand on her shoulder from behind, leaning his lips towards her ear. "I was rather thinking you could stay with me instead." He whispered, and Hannah smiled.

"You're right. It's not often we go to your place." She grinned, closing her eyes from the feeling of his breath in her ear.

"No." Dexter smiled, stroking a strand of her away from over her neck. "We're going somewhere else." He whispered. Hannah could hear the rustling of pants, or pockets, but she didn't give it a second thought.

"Oh? Then where are we-" her voice was cut off by the tiny sting in her neck, followed by a strong dizziness. "Dexter, what are you.." She blubbered, but her consciousness faded away before she managed to say any more.

"We're going for a trip on my boat." Dexter whispered, carefully letting Hannah slump down on her back. "You're finally going to overcome your fear of water. But first, we have to stop by my special place."

…

_It's like a curse. It seems I can never stay with a person for very long without them dying or leaving. I actually thought things would be good with Hannah, but what can I expect? Living this life, not everything can go as you want them to. If I wanted to, I could let Hannah live. I could keep being with her and pretend I didn't know anything, but it would be at the expense of the one person that is most important to me. Letting Hannah be free would cost my sister her life, and that's not something I could live with. And if that happened, I'd end up killing Hannah anyway. It would be a double lose situation. Furthermore, it's clear to me who is more important of Debra and Hannah. I guess it's always been clear._

Dexter sat on the little table across from the table Hannah lay on. She was, as one would assume, covered in plastic wrap with no clothes underneath. Dexter was idly twisting a knife around in his hands, his eyes closed. He was deep in thought.

He heard a low groan from the table opposed to him, and he opened his eyes slowly. His breathing was somewhat fast-paced, but he seemed calm. When Hannah opened her eyes, she looked confused at first. "Dexter.." She uttered, and then realization hit her. "Dexter, why are you.." She swallowed, tears starting to well up in her eyes. It was just like the first time he'd put her on the table, but she didn't understand why he'd do it again.

"You're awake." Dexter sighed reluctantly, standing up from the little table he'd sat on. He put the knife down by his other tools and brought out the scalpel, slowly approaching Hannah. She winced a little when he cut her cheek and sampled her blood for a glass tile.  
"I usually don't do this anymore, but I need this as proof." He said with a low voice, practically empty of all emotion.

"Why are you doing this?" Hannah asked, her eyes red and sad.

"For the safety of my sister." Dexter breathed, and an almost sad tone was in his voice as he put the glass tile down in his tool bag. He brought out a medium large knife, sizing it up with his eyes. "As long as you're free, she's not safe."

"Dexter, what are you saying?" Hannah uttered, her mind filled with fear, disappointment and sadness.

"The water in Debra's car.. it was 40% anxiety drugs." He moved so that he stood behind her, glancing down at her face.

"Are you saying you think I had something to do with it?"

"It doesn't matter anymore, does it?" He muttered. "It's too late to turn back from this. You need to be put down." He said in a whispering manner, sitting down on his knees. He placed his forehead against hers, in the exact same way he had done with his brother Brian when he slit his throat.

"I love you, Dexter." Hannah cried, the tears flowing down her face, mixing with the blood on her cheek. "You don't need to do this. We can-"

Her voice caught as a choking sound emitted from her throat, the sound of metal piercing flesh ringing in Dexter's ears. He hurriedly let go of the knife, letting it stay in her chest. He kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to see the life fade out of her eyes.

_And just like that I'm back at square one. It'll always be like this. I just have to see it coming from now on. But I still have Debra, and I have to make sure I always do. Or else this would have been for naught._

Debra closed the door with her one good hand, turning on the lights in her home. She'd just been released from the hospital, and Batista had offered to drive her home after he finished work. She'd normally have Dexter pick her up, but he was busy. Probably with Hannah, she thought spitefully.

Debra had hurriedly come to the conclusion that Hannah had sedated her, but it didn't seem Dexter believed her. What else was there to think? That she'd been stupid enough to poison herself somehow? Either Dexter had a really good argument against it, or he was just completely blinded by his feelings for Hannah. Debra could understand that. She was just like that with Dexter.

She sighed heavily, cussing to herself as she walked over to the fridge. She got out one beer and managed to open it with one hand. She slumped down on the couch, leaning her back against the cushions in the corner of the sofa. She pulled her legs up on the couch and turned on the TV with her remote control, just scrolling through channels.

She stopped at some random action move which she honestly usually found too cheesy, but she felt like watching something distracting for once. It was all so unrealistic in those movies. The good guy beat the living crap out of the bad guys, and then he gets the girl who is some drop dead beauty who only dates heroes or something like that. It was stupid, but the thought of it was nice, in a way.

And of course, this movie ended in the same way. The main character got rid of his girlfriend who had turned out to actually just be spying on him, and he got together with the good girl. No surprise, obviously, and Debra found herself wanting something like that happen to her too. That was a silly thought.

3 beers and one movie after, Debra heard a knock at the door. "Let yourself in." She grumbled, and someone grabbed the door handle, but it didn't open.

"Uh.. it's locked." The voice called from outside. Debra remembered now, she'd locked the door because of Hannah. She was actually a little on edge at the moment.

"Be there in a sec," Debra sighed, placing the empty beer bottle next to the two others. She stood up and walked over to the door. She unlocked it with her good hand, turning around to sit back in the couch before the door even had time to be opened.

"Uh.. hi." Dexter uttered with a low voice as he closed the door behind him, seeing Debra on the couch.

"Lock the door." She mumbled, and Dexter did as told. He made his way over to the couch and sat down on the other side, looking at the TV in silence for a little while. He turned his gaze to the table and saw the beers, looking over at Debra.

"Want another?" He asked, and she nodded silently, her lips pursed. He stood up and got two beers from the fridge. He opened them both and gave one to Debra before sitting back down. She'd already had three, but Dexter knew that she could hold her liquor.

"What are you doing here?" Debra finally asked. "It's fucking late night on Christmas eve, aren't you supposed to be with your girlfriend?" She asked. She didn't really want to sound rude, but she couldn't help it.

"Something.. came up." Dexter replied monotonously, looking forward at the TV, not really having any idea what was going on in the movie that was on.

"Something came up? What, Hannah tried to poison you?" She spat, frowning. Her one good hand balled its fist in her lap.

""N-no.. Deb, I'm.." He stuttered, trying to come up with something to say. "I have something.. for you." He said, turning his head to look at her.

"Well, I hope it's a new fucking car." Debra huffed, not able to surprise the tiny grin. Dexter put his hand in his pocket and pulled something out, keeping it tight inside his palm.  
"That's either a car key, or you've bought me a crappy and tiny gift." She said, her voice lightening a little. Thinking that Dexter at least came to visit her made her glad.

"Hold out your hand." Dexter whispered, and he looked sad. Debra tilted her head when she saw Dexter's expression. She hesitantly held out her hand, and Dexter placed his palm on top of hers. He dropped the slide in her hand, but he didn't remove his hand at first. He let it cover the tile.

".. 's cold.." Debra whispered, her voice catching a little. Dexter nodded with pursed lips and removed his hand slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on Debra's face as she looked down at her hand. "Dexter, what is.. why the fuck would you.." She gulped, not really sure what she should think. Her lips started shaking as she looked up at Dexter. "W-Who is this?" She whispered, and Dexter gritted his teeth a little, stiffening his shoulders unintentionally.

"That's.. Hannah Mckay." He said with a monotone voice, an almost painful look on his face. Just as he said it, a sharp breath escaped Debra's mouth.

"What the fuck, Dex?" She uttered, her voice shaking – a lot. "Did you.. kill her?" She asked, though she already knew the answer. Dexter didn't move.

"She was a danger to you.." Dexter breathed, looking at Debra. But his eyes were empty, as if he was looking at something else.

"Dexter, you didn't even have any proof.. did you go on my word alone?" Debra gulped, and Dexter shook his head slowly, and his presence returned – he was looking into Debra's eyes now, properly.

"The water bottle in your car.. I had it tested. The pills you're on were dissolved into the water."

"I.. Jesus fuck." Debra stuttered, narrowing her eyes a little. "Dexter, you killed Hannah for my sake? Why would you-"

"It's not the first time, you know." He said, a shaking in his voice. "I did the same with my brother.. Brian Moser. I got rid of him to make sure you were safe."

"You killed Rudy..?" She asked, her eyes a little wide. "I mean.. it makes sense, but.. did you know who he was? Did _he_ know?"

"He knew all the time. I found out after a while." Dexter sighed under his breath. "All his kills were set up to give me hints. It was all a show for me."

"Jesus fuck, Dexter. You killed your own brother for my sake?" She swallowed, straightening her back a little where she sat.

"And I would have done it again. No matter how my feelings are for another person, I always have to prioritize you. Without you, I'd just.. crash and burn." Dexter uttered, almost whispering as he looked at Debra.

"How can I possibly be that important to you?" She huffed, her mouth hanging slightly agape, questioningly.

"Because you're my sister, Deb. I might not show it that often, but you're the most important piece in my life."

"Except from the killing." Debra added, a hissing sarcasm in her tone.

"You don't understand. It's like the killing fills a tiny void that's inside my body. The rest of it would be completely empty if it wasn't for you. Without you I'm nothing but an empty shell. Or at least that's what it feels like." He mumbled.

"Even after I told you.. that?" Debra swallowed, lowering her head a little with her eyes still fixed on his.

"Maybe even more after that." He replied shortly. "What you said opened up my mind a little, and I can understand why you would feel something like that."

"Most people would say it's disgusting." Debra scoffed, crossing her arms – trying to cross her arms but failing miserably after remembering she only had one functioning hand at the moment.

"Deb, I'm a serial killer. I can't say that anything is wrong or disgusting, because my entire existence is _wrong_."

"Why would you say something like that?"

"Because it's true. If anyone were to know about the real me, they wouldn't exactly look at me and say 'That man right there is a successful person'. They'd think it was horrible that I was even born." He sputtered, shaking his head in dismay.

"I don't." Debra muttered in response, looking at her brother with a sad expression on her face. "I never will. Dexter, I will _always _accept you."

"Deb.." He whispered softly.

"That's what family is for, right? Being able to deal with each other's shit no matter how bad it is?" Her lips trembled.

"That would be true if every family wasn't as messed up as ours. Or as me, at least."

"All the more reason to take care of each other, right? You've kept up with my shit all this time." Debra grinned weakly, and Dexter couldn't help but to smile a little himself.

"Your 'shit' is pretty normal to me. I like dealing with your shit." He chuckled. "It makes me feel at ease whenever I'm not.. you know."

"Yeah." Debra giggled, brushing some hair away from her face, sliding it behind her ear. "You've been dealing with it more than you think, too. When we were kids, I would –"

" – you would sneak into my room and crawl up besides my bed." Dexter finished for her, a more light tone to his voice now. His mind felt a little clearer, even though he had just killed his potential future. At least he had Debra.

"Fuck, you knew about that?" Debra uttered, looking a bit flustered and embarrassed all of a sudden. "How did you know?"

"First of all, you should remember that I'm like a predator in more ways than just one. My senses are quite heightened, you know. Furthermore, being able to fall asleep at night is not an easy thing for a person who's constantly wondering why he's even alive. I was pretty much an insomniac for a while." He replied to her, a tiny grin playing at the corner of his lips.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She murmured, and a slight tint of red had been able to seep through the tan colours of her face and ever so slightly taint her cheeks with a blush.

"You seemed so peaceful." Dexter uttered, and suddenly he seemed nostalgic. "I remember the first times I noticed you coming in. I thought it was weird. I was starting to wonder if you were sleepwalking or something." His eyes faltered a bit as he recalled what he had felt back then. "But then you started coming in once in a while, and I could sense that you were.. unnerved."

"Nightmares." She replied, and her voice sounded a bit groggy as a lump had formed in her throat. "I was scared, so I went to sleep in the same room as my to-become-a-serial-killer brother. Talk about fucked up." She laughed, pulling her knees under herself so that she sat on her legs.

"You had no way of knowing. I guess I must have been good at faking emotion back then too." He breathed, his voice a bit croaky. "I think it was.. yes, I think it was the fourth time you came into my room at night. I just lay there, listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing and I felt.. okay."

"What do you mean, 'okay'?" Debra asked, sounding almost a little confused.

"I mean, I felt okay. I felt okay, and for a moment I looked brightly on my future because I pictured you there. I thought that as long as I had my sister, I would be able to live a life that was, in its own way, worth living."

"And that's why you'd go to such lengths to keep me safe." Debra nearly whispered.

"Because no matter who I get to be with, it's not worth it if you're not there. I keep noticing that Harry tells me to be more considerate about you, and he gets mad, and I never really realized it was me who was mad at myself for not taking care of you enough."

"Harry?" She asked him, narrowing her eyes a bit. "Who the fuck's that? And what do you mean it was 'really just yourself'?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you that bit." Dexter huffed. "You've probably heard of people who have a walking consciousness. I have one too, and it's Harry. He keeps telling me what to do, while in reality it's just my own suppressed thoughts."

"Well, that does sound like Harry." Debra muttered, not even a bit surprised by what Dexter had told her. He was a serial killer, and that which went on his head was no longer surprising to her.

…

She had finally been able to make it into homicide. It was a big change for her, and it was something she'd always wanted. She was looking forward to investigating, catching killers, but more than anything else; she looked forward to finally being able to work together with her brother. They'd be like a special team, 'Brother and sister catch killer together!'. It was a childish thought, but she liked it nonetheless.

In the beginning, she was given a lot of shitty jobs. It didn't exactly seem like LaGuerta liked Debra all that much, but she didn't really care. She was in homicide. So, to begin with, she often had to sit in the office until late hours to watch through security tapes. She often looked at Dexter as he left work with his little briefcase in hand. He sometimes seemed so awkward in his posture, while other times he would have this extremely determined expression on his face.

She remembered, especially, that one time. She'd been in homicide for a couple of months, and she'd worked a bit together with Dexter, and again she was on late duty. She heard a click and saw the door to Dexter's office open. He carried his briefcase this time too, and she met his eyes as he turned around in the elevator. Instead of his usual composure where he'd check his watch, whistle a little to himself and wave at Debra before he left, there was this look on his face.

Just looking at his face had gotten her heart stuck in her throat. He was completely still. His facial futures practically didn't move at all. His eyes flickered to hers one time, but it didn't seem like he acknowledged her presence. In his eyes was the look of anticipation. He looked so ready, so animalistic, so.. brutal. Debra had tried to imagine why he suddenly looked like that, but she couldn't think of anything. It was a completely different Dexter.

After that, she'd seen that several times over the years. She was often working overtime, and so was Dexter. Again and again, he would leave the police station a little earlier than Debra would. At times he would nod at her and give her a slightly awkward wave, and then he'd check his watch. Other times, he would have that look again. Debra reacted to it every time.

Somehow, it felt as if his gaze was sometimes more intense than other times. He looked like a predator, and several times he'd left Debra with red cheeks and damp underwear. I'm just lonely, Debra had thought every time. The only reason it happened when Dexter left was that she was left all to herself, with the chance to think of how long it was since she'd been with someone. It had nothing to do with Dexter, she told herself, and she believed it.

…

"It's late," Debra stated, nodding her head towards Dexter with a worried expression. "You must be tired." _'Broken', _she thought.

"I guess." Dexter replied, blinking once with his eyes before flickering them over to Debra. "I'll be heading back, then."

"No." Debra denied him instantly. "I won't let you be alone tonight. I need my safe place. So do you."

"Deb, I-"

"No. You go sleep in my bed, I'll crash on the couch." She said determinately, glaring daggers at him as if to intimidate him.

"F-Fine," Dexter gulped, grinning nervously. "Thanks."

…

"_I promise you, you'll enjoy this." He smirked, and Debra smiled weakly at him. He slowly pulled her shirt over her head and left a kiss on her neck, and she gasped a little. The man with the dark, curly hair bit down on the place between her neck and shoulder, gently and teasingly._

"_Dexter," Debra panted with closed eyes, biting down on her lower lip._

"_Little brother's not here." The voice replied. Little brother? But Dexter was her older brother. Oh, god. She shot her eyes open and gasped in horror._

"_Rudy?!" She exclaimed, and Brian Moser grinned down at her. He had a pen in his hand, and as Debra looked down at her naked body she could see that he had marked lines on her joints._

"_It's Christmas," he smiled. "I'm preparing a gift for my little brother."  
Debra started breathing frantically, trying to move. But she couldn't._

"_It's going to be ok." A calm voice said besides her, and she turned around. There was a grown man, almost old, smiling down at her._

"_Lundy.." She whispered, and he smiled._

"_It's all going to be okay, Debra." He said, and then blood started spilling out of his stomach, staining his shirt. "Once this is over, we'll be together. You can join me on the other side."_

Debra sat up on the couch, sweat running down her neck. The tank top she used for sleep was ragged, and one hinge had slipped over her shoulder. She sat there for a while, gasping loudly, trying her best to calm her breath. And then the tears came. She managed not to sob loudly, but the tears still came, and she stood up from the couch.

She silently shuffled her bare feet across the floor, carefully pushing the door to her room open. She could hear Dexter's breathing now. It was so silent, compared to most other men. He didn't snore like most people, he just breathed calmly. She stepped in and closed the door as quietly as she could, turning her head to check that Dexter hadn't woken up. It was dark, and she could barely see his silhouette on the bed.

She got down on all fours like a little child, and crawled over to the side of his bed. She lied down on her side on the floor, practically in a fetal position. She just lay there for a while, listening to Dexter's breath, and once again she felt safe. Still broken, but safe. She felt startled when she heard Dexter shift on the bed, but it didn't sound like he'd woken up. She kept her eyes closed, and Dexter was silent once again.

What Debra still hadn't gotten used to was how silent Dexter could be. She didn't notice that he'd placed his feet on the floor. She gasped when she felt one hand under her back, and one under her knees. Dexter lifted her up into his arms and carefully placed her down on the bed, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes. He turned, and then a voice whispered "_Stay,"_ and he did. He lied down on the other side of the bed, and before he had time to settle down he could feel a hand clutching to his arm. He turned on his side to look at his sister, and she pulled herself closer to him, and then she let go.

She let go off everything except her tight grip on her brother's arm. She silently sobbed into his chest, and he carefully stroked his hand through her hair. She'd seen through him, and now he'd seen through her. Their shields were down. They say that you don't know really know a person before you've seen through their cracks, and their true self seeps through those cracks.

But Debra was more than just cracking up. In that moment, in her brother's arms, she shattered. Her walls fell and behind them was the true Debra Morgan, and Dexter could see her for all she was and he held onto her as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

And none of them let go before Debra's tears were dried out, and they had fallen asleep in each other's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

After watching the season ending of Dexter, I've decided to put this fic in that direction, so here's a big spoiler warning because this will reflect what happened in the season ending.

* * *

_I don't know which feeling that puts me more at ease; the feeling of waking up next to Hannah McKay, or the feeling of waking up next to my sister. The events of last night were special, to say the least. I killed the person I was in love with, and I fell asleep with a crying Debra in my arms. She's broken, maybe even more than I am. I have to make sure I'm able to protect her in the future, so that she doesn't have to break any more than she has now._

"Good morning." Dexter smiled happily over his shoulder, laughing a little as he saw Debra shuffling into the kitchen.

"Fuck..." She hissed, rubbing her eyes heavily.

"Well, that's a different way of putting it." Dexter huffed jokingly, turning back to the kitchen counter. "I made coffee. And eggs." He said, carrying a plate and a mug over to the table where Debra had slumped down in one of the chairs.

"How can you be so bright in the morning? I feel like a god damn train wreck." She groaned, shyly picking at her food. "And _don't _try to tell me I look like one, because it will be the last you say." She hissed, pointing at Dexter with her damaged hand.

"I'm not saying that," Dexter shook his head. He sat down by the other side of the table, taking a sip from his coffee. "I'm a morning person, I guess. And something tells me you didn't sleep too well." He said, quirking his eyebrow at her.

"Yeah, yeah." She huffed. "Bad dream."

"Must have been pretty bad, too." Dexter retorted. "I don't know if you remember, but –"

"I.. I remember, Dex." She murmured, looking down at her plate. There's no way she'd just forget the fact that she cried herself to sleep while desperately clutching hold of her brother's arm. She hadn't planned for it to end up like that. It was Dexter's fault for picking her up like he did. Her heart skipped a little by the thought of it. She'd been so scared, and then his arms had wrapped around her and lifted her up, and –

"You okay?" Dexter asked, tilting his head forwards a little. Debra nodded slightly and started eating her eggs. She looked a bit flustered, but Dexter didn't notice.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Debra mumbled, keeping her eyes fixed downwards.

"No, I already ate." Dexter replied, looking at his watch. "We should get going in about 20 minutes, alright? I'll drive." He said, looking at her hand.

"Sure."

Though Dexter had been able to lift it just a little bit, the mood did seem a bit heavy. It wasn't exactly easy for them to put aside what had happened the night before. Even so, they did both seem a bit closer again.

…

A few days had passed, and nothing particularly special had happened. Debra was finally feeling a sense of mending happening in her head. She knew she would never be completely okay, but she started to feel that she was slowly repairing. She did, though, have a feeling that it wouldn't last so long. It probably never would.

She was in her office, just going through some files she'd received. There was finally some space for her to actually do her job for once, but then Batista acted up outside. She could hear the muffled voices out there pretty well when said voices were raised.

"_Are you out of your mind, Maria? This is crazy!"_

"_Step away, Angel. I have proof that ..er..an..bor butcher."_

Debra furrowed her brows and tried to hear what was being said, but the voice who seemed to be LaGuerta wasn't loud enough for her to pick up on it. She'd heard butcher. This was definitely bad. She stood up and stepped out of the office. She was starting to get tired of having to lead LaGuerta away from her investigation, but what she saw now made her furious. Scared, but furious.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Debra exclaimed, making her way over to Dexter who stood there in handcuffs. "You let my brother go this instant! Michaels, remove his cuffs!"

"Step back, Morgan. I have proof that Dexter is the Bay Harbor butcher."

…

"Are you trying to fucking frame my brother?!" Debra hissed as Dexter left the interrogation room with a perfectly faked nervous and confused expression on his face.

"He's the one who framed me!"

"You stay the fuck away from him, you hear?"

…

Debra glared at the screen, seeing the footage of herself filling gas in a tank the day she helped Dexter burn down the church.

"It seems I'm not the only one who made a mistake while trying to protect the ones I care about," LaGuerta said with a heavy undertone, and Debra could feel a lump form in her throat. "Is there anything you want to get off your chest?"

"Yes," Debra whispered, her lips trembling with every breath she took, and then she did her best to put on a fake smirk. Just like her brother. "I think you've been under a lot of stress." She said calmly. She didn't realize that it was something she'd learned from Dexter after she found out he faked most of his emotions and manipulated people. It came pretty naturally to her at a time like this.

And so the day rolled, events just constantly stacking up on each other, and the night of new year's eve slowly started covering Miami. Neither Dexter nor LaGuerta was to be seen at the bar, and Debra already knew what this meant. She just sincerely hoped she could stop it in time.

…

"Debra," Dexter gasped lowly, turning his head as his sister entered the container with her gun raised.

"Jesus fucking Christ, what have you done?!" She uttered, her hands trembling as she aimed her gun at Dexter.

"You shouldn't be here." Dexter breathed as calmly as he could, slowly walking over to the knife he'd left on the barrel.

"Why.. shouldn't I be here?" Debra whispered, tears starting to well up in her eyes. She knew what was going on, but she didn't want to believe that her brother was about to kill a police captain.

"I need to finish this." He replied, letting his fingers brush over the knife that lay on the barrel.

"You can't!" Debra cried.

"I can. And I will." Dexter muttered, furrowing his brows a little. Then something rustled behind them and Dexter picked up the knife.

"Don't!" Debra exclaimed and aimed the gun straight at Dexter's chest. Dexter nervously turned his head to look at LaGuerta who was sitting on all fours.

"Do it, shoot him!" LaGuerta shouted, her voice trembling. Her eyes were wet and red, and she stared into Debra's eyes. The tears welled up more in Debra's eyes as she looked back at Dexter, who quirked his eyebrow silently. He had to make her lower her gun somehow.

"I.." Debra swallowed, trying to hold focus on Dexter.

"You're a good cop! You have to kill him – you're nothing like him!" LaGuerta exclaimed, and Debra felt more unsure than ever. "_Put him down!"_

_Put him down?_, Debra thought, putting her finger on the trigger. _She's talking as if he's some kind of animal. But he's not. He's covered in darkness, but he's still human! He's still my brother.._

"She's right." Dexter uttered, a wash of realization on his face. This would usually be the point where he tried to manipulate Debra into taking his side, but this time was different. LaGuerta was totally right. "Everything she said, it's true. You're a good cop. You're a good person." He said, and in that moment he felt that it was time. It was time for him to die. He had truly gone too far this time, and maybe he could grant Debra her redemption if she put him down. She deserved as much, and as long as it was by her hand, Dexter didn't mind dying. At that moment, it actually seemed quite soothing.

"…" Debra started sobbing silently, her hand shaking uncontrollably as she tried to keep it fixed on Dexter.

"Look," Dexter said calmly, dropping the knife on the ground. He held out his arms as if inviting her in, actual tears starting to form in his eyes. "It's okay, Deb. It's going to be okay. Do what you gotta do."

Debra tilted her head from side to side, guttural sobs escaping her throat as she tried to form a word with her lips. "… Dex." She cried, as if pleading. She'd already decided what she had to do. She looked at Dexter and pleaded his name, as if trying to find someone to hold onto before she did something unforgivable. She needed to make sure that Dexter was there. She closed her eyes and fired the gun.

Dexter widened his eyes and looked behind him as he saw LaGuerta fall against the container wall, blood smudging her shirt. Debra cried loudly and dropped her gun to the floor, rushing over to the dead woman. She hugged her in her arms as if she believed that it would make everything okay. It wouldn't. It would never be okay.

…

_There is blood on my sister's hands. Innocent blood. I gave her permission to get rid of the tumor that is my life, and yet she chose to keep it safe. I have never been able to predict what a person feels inside, but right now I'm pretty sure that Debra Morgan is as broken as she could ever be. She made herself break so that she could keep me safe. I will never understand why she did it. I just have to do my best to make it right again._

_One would think that right now, I have a reason to kill her. To put the life of my now murderous sister to an end. But I couldn't. No code could justify killing her. No code would make it right._

There was a lot to clean up. A lot of forensic traces to get rid of to make sure that neither one of them could be taken down for this. Dexter had told Debra several times to go home, but she'd refused. She'd shook her head over and over again, the tears still streaming down her face. "I can't be alone right now!" She'd sobbed, and Dexter had sighed.

"Wait outside." He said, and Debra did. He had to clean up. He positioned the bodies in a believable position and cleaned away all of Debra's fingerprints and footprints – she was barefoot, after all. Lastly, he had to figure out a way to hide the fact that LaGuerta was killed with a police gun, but that was easy. Both guns were 9mm, and the bullet had went right through. He removed the bullet from the container wall and fired a new shot clean through the old bullet hole, this time using Estrada's gun. And so, he was done.

…

None of them really knew why, but after they'd cleaned up the crime scene, they went to a nearby dance party by the beach. No one would recognize them there, and they would get to experience new year together. A new year beginning with murder. Dexter could see it in her eyes. He could see the deadness of them as she held onto his arm while they made their way to the center of the crowd, and the fireworks started.

But he understood. He was broken too, after his first kill. Not in the same way, but he felt so hollow. It must have been so different for Debra who actually had emotions. And it was. She felt dead inside, and she was sure that nothing would ever make her better again. But Dexter would just have to try. It was important for him, too.

…

They were completely silent. Not a word had been shared between the two since they left the shipping bay. Debra had driven her car home, and Dexter had been behind her all the time. He wanted to make sure she got home safe. He stepped out of the car as they stopped by Debra's house, and he crossed his arms.

"Will you be okay?" He asked, and Debra just frowned at him as an answer. Dexter nodded with a sigh.

"I called Batista from the car," she uttered, her voice completely monotone. "I told him I met up with you at a café and then we went home. We were both tired. I told him I hadn't gotten a hold of Maria."

"Mh." Dexter nodded, looking a little from side to side.

"I can't stay here, Dexter." Debra murmured, her voice sounding sad now. "This house, it'll only remind me of.."

"You." Dexter whispered, finishing her sentence. She nodded, and he understood immediately. She had to forget herself, if only just a little, because the thought of being Debra Morgan, cop killer, broke her even more. She got into his car, and he drove them home to his apartment. Jamie had promised to take Harrison home, so Dexter didn't have to worry about it.

When they walked in, Jamie met them in the hall. "Hello," She smiled, looking first at Dexter, then Debra. "I put Harrison to sleep a while ago, he was so tired."

"I can understand," Dexter smiled, and right then, Debra felt so sorry for him. For all his life he'd put on a mask and faked a smile to make people think he had emotions. To make everyone believe that he was human. And she felt so sorry for him, because she'd never noticed. She believed it just as much as anyone else, if not even more. Her brother was empty inside, and she never realized.

Jamie tilted her head curiously at Debra, who was looking blankly at the side of Dexter's face, and he immediately knew he should cover up for her. "She just wanted to say Happy New Year to Harrison." He said quickly, and Jamie smiled.

"I'll be leaving, then." She said.

"Yeah. Thanks." Dexter nodded, and Jamie left.

"I need a beer," Debra said immediately, and Dexter nodded hurriedly in agreement. He got them one beer each and sat down on the couch next to Debra. She just sat there with the opened bottle in hand, just staring in front of her. After a long silence, Dexter spoke up.

"You didn't have to do it," He said, and he turned his gaze to Debra, meeting her eyes. "You could have killed me instead. I wouldn't mind."

"Yeah, right." Debra murmured, her lips shaking. "You might have been able to kill the person you were in love with, but I couldn't. There's no way I could."

"It would have been better, wouldn't it?" Dexter asked. "I'm a monster. You could have put me down."

"Don't say that!" Debra uttered, her voice groggy. She downed most of her beer and put the bottle on the table, turning her gaze back to Dexter.

"I'm saying it because it's the truth. If anyone deserves to take me down, it's you."

"No matter what I'd done back there, it would fuck me up. I don't want to be more fucked up than I already am and not have you here to help me through it Dexter. It wouldn't work."

"I'm the person you choose for patching you back together? You sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm pretty fucking sure." Debra huffed.

"Fine, then. I will treat the task with absolute intimacy." He said as if using code made it all less… messed up. It didn't.

"I'm not ready for the call. I don't want them to tell me that they found her body in a shipping container because I will just remember it all over again, and _fuck. _I'm not ready for any of this, Dexter." Debra said, and then she was crying. Not a lot, just a couple of tears down her surprisingly relaxed face.

"Just relax." Dexter said calmly, putting a hand on her knee. "I know that you're messed up and that it will take a very long time to fix you, but you can't let anyone else see that you're broken." He almost whispered it.

"How am I supposed to do that?" Debra mumbled, slowly regaining a bit control of her emotions.

"Well… it might be difficult for you after everything that's happened between us lately, but you have to treat me like a vent. You have to try and think that from now on, I'm the person you have to throw all your emotions at, so that maybe they won't be as clear when you're at work."

"Dexter.." Debra murmured with a sad undertone.

"If you're angry, you come over. You don't even have to say anything, just punch me. Do whatever you need to do to vent out your emotions, just make sure you do it to me and no one else." He informed, and he tried to make it as clear as possible.

"Are you sure about this?" She asked him.

"Of course I am. I have to be."

"Okay, then."

"In that case… should I just do it whenever I feel like it?"

"Yup. Don't hold yourself ba-" His sentence was cut off by Debra slapping him hard across the face with her one good hand. Dexter groaned a bit and touched his cheek in awe before rolling his jaw a little. "Good one-" Another. It hurt even more this time. His sister had quite the slap, apparently.

"That felt good." Debra huffed, looking down at her hand. Dexter didn't seem mad or anything. It was like he was actually going all out to fix her. "Oh god.." She gulped, tears starting to well up in her eyes again.

"What is it?" Dexter asked her, his voice sounding a bit concerned. Debra looked back up at him with wet eyes and quivering lips.

"Oh my fucking god… I love you so much." She sobbed and then she hugged him. It was desperate, and he was surprised. It wasn't too long ago since she'd cried in his arms, but it still surprised him. He hesitantly hugged her back, lightly stroking his hand along her back as she cried into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry for whatever crap I might make you go through."

"No. I'm sorry, Deb. I'm the one who's sorry." And he was. He really, really was. He didn't care what she meant when she told him she loved him. Be it she loved him as a brother, or if her feelings for him really were less platonic, he didn't care. Debra loved Dexter, and Dexter loved Debra. That was all that mattered to him at that moment.


	3. Chapter 3

_The world is moving slowly around me. I keep waiting and waiting for that call that I know will show up, but it hasn't yet. The call that says they've found our beloved captain dead in a shipment container with a bullet hole through her gut. I'll have to work the blood work that I already faked. I know it will be easy for me, but it's going to be hell for Debra. But the call doesn't come. Not for a while, it seems._

"I'm so fucking tired," Debra groaned as she got off the couch, rubbing her eyes roughly. She had dark bags under her eyes, her eyelids drooping heavily. She hadn't slept very well, obviously, and Dexter had noticed that very well just by looking at her.

"Do you want coffee?" Dexter asked from the kitchen, having basically just got out of bed.

"Honestly? I could need something stronger than that." She said, rolling her eyes a little. She pulled on her pants that had been tossed tiredly onto the floor the night before after she'd gone to sleep and been too warm to sleep.

Dexter would have usually, more than definitely, shrugged off her response and given her the coffee, but this was a special occasion. He eyed her for a moment before pulling out a flask of whiskey from the cabinet. He poured some into the coffee cup and handed it to Debra. After that, Debra had a quick shower and they decided that Debra should get out of there before Jamie arrived. She had started to wonder a little the night before, so they'd best take no chances. Debra left a little before Dexter, sitting in the passenger seat in his car as she saw Jamie pull up. She saw her enter the apartment, and then Dexter left too.

She had to hand it to him. Serial killer or not, he was a responsible father. Sure, he wasn't spending as much time with his son as a parent should, but it was a special situation. She remembered that time, right after Rita had died. Dexter was so distant for a while, but after that he didn't even hesitate to take care of Harrison by himself. And just then, Debra realized how scared Dexter must have been all that time. Dexter was found bathed in his mom's blood, and look what became of him. What if he, all this time, was afraid that the same would happen to Harrison?

"Jesus fuck, Dex," Debra murmured sadly as Dexter approached the car. She remembered that time after Lundy had been murdered. She was so blind back then. Even before Rita died, Dexter had been suffering – maybe even more than Debra had – and she hadn't noticed.

…

"_Come on," Dexter said with concern in his voice, trying to make Debra follow him. She shook her head while the tears escaped her eyes._

"_I have to stay…" She sobbed. "Here… where Lundy died."_

"_Deb…"_

"_No, you don't understand!. You have everything, yet you try so hard to tear it all down on top of yourself! I'm the fuck-up in this family, not you, Dexter! I'm… I'm broken!"_

_Dexter just looked at her for a while with sad eyes, his mouth hanging slightly agape. "No," he uttered, and he looked as if he'd had a saddening epiphany. "I am."_

…

She didn't know anything about him back then. She thought she knew him more than anyone else, but she knew just as little as the others. Dexter had shut in on himself, hiding who he really was from everyone around him. He had been broken his entire life.

Debra swallowed the heavy lump in her throat as Dexter entered the car and they drove off, heading towards the station. They were both stressed on the matter of LaGuerta. When would it be called in? They drove to work and nothing really happened for several hours. Everyone at the office told each other happy new year, and Dexter went to work on some lab tests in his office. There was still no sign of suspicion around the LaGuerta case, but some people seemed to be wondering why she hadn't come to the party the night before.

Dexter worked in peace for a few hours, which felt really great. He had complete and utter privacy except from the few times Masuka would drop in on him with some new tests for him to check out. The last few weeks had been a total mess, and this was the first time Dexter had actually felt calm within those weeks.

Debra, on the other hand, was not all that calm. She sat in her office, filing official paper work for the new year. Her lips were constantly trembling as she feared the reaction of the people in the station when they got the call about LaGuerta. At times, she even wanted it to happen right away, so that she didn't have to be so tense all the time. But it didn't seem to go that quickly. She worked for a few hours, at least happy that she didn't get many interruptions.

After having worked for a while, Dexter felt something tingle under his skin. It came without warning at all, rushing over him in a giant wave. He needed to kill. Even after killing Estrada the night before, he felt so anxious all of a sudden. Someone needed to die, and it had to be by his hands, but he knew that it was a bad time. He would do best to stay with Debra while waiting for the call to come. It seemed like an eternity already. Surely someone would have to miss her by now. And someone did. Not literally, because this person already knew where she was, but she needed her to be found now. The impatience was gnawing at her from underneath. She couldn't take it anymore.

"Hey, Batista," Debra said as she opened the door from her office, peering outside. "Could you come in here for a sec?"  
Batista nodded and walked into Debra's office, closing the door behind him. He stood there, waiting for Debra to speak. "I… I'm kind of worried about LaGuerta. She didn't show up at the party last night, and I haven't seen her since then either. Do you know anything?"

"I have no idea," Angel shrugged, also seeming to be curious about it. "I've tried calling her, but I didn't get an answer."

"I see… I just have this feeling that something is wrong. I almost want to issue an all points bulletin on her, but that would be a little rash."

"Well, you _are _the LT. I don't think anyone would mind if you had someone at least track down her phone." Angel said, smiling a little. Debra nodded.

"Could you do it for me?"

"Sure thing, Deb."

And even though she was prepared for it, everything after that was blurry. The message came, and everything felt so unreal. The people in the station scurried about, worried, sad and despaired. Their captain was dead. Most of the people from homicide rushed down to the shipping docks. It was terrible. Debra couldn't bear to look, but she knew she had to. There was the woman who had died by her gun, lifeless and cold. She swallowed the heavy lump in her throat and held back her tears for the entirety of the time Dexter and Masuka used to investigate the container and take notes of all forensics. They easily came to a conclusion.

Dexter walked up to Debra and Batista, who both looked pretty shaken up by everything that was going on. His voice was a bit shaky, but it was on purpose. "Judging by the angle of the bullet hole, LaGuerta was already on the ground when she was shot. She walked in through the container and placed her back against the wall. She must have fallen over right before the attacker shot her in the gut, and right after fired her own gun into his chest. She must have bled out pretty quickly after that."

"I see… thank you, Dexter." Batista said sadly, his eyes drooping a little. "It's almost a bit sad that it's already too late to catch the son of a bitch who did this to Maria."

Dexter's eyes instantly shifted to look at Debra, who seemed to be having trouble breathing properly. This was obviously hard on her.

"Yeah… at least he was taken down." Dexter murmured, nodding. He waved Debra over and looked at Batista. "We should…"

"Yeah. We'll take the rest from here."

Dexter put his hand on Debra's shoulder, and to his surprise she didn't shove it away. He took her to the car and they drove back to the station. They both filed their reports, talking with some people at the station. There was a really dark mood all over the place. The paper work took hours, and one by one, detectives started returning from the crime scene.

After a while, Debra called in for a briefing. It was hard, but she had to do it. It was her job, and she was obligated to do it. "It's a… a sad day for all of us. And a really fucking shitty way for us to start the new year." She said, trying to stay calm though there was an obvious uneasiness in her voice. It's not like anyone could blame her for being shaken up. She was at fault for this. "We lost our captain today… but she was more than just our captain. She was our friend. When I first came to the homicide division, me and Maria had some… disagreements. But with time she became someone I respected. Someone I looked up to. She's been a mentor for me these past years, and losing her is painful to me, and to all of you too. I honestly think it would be good for us to be able to investigate this, and we will – but it seems the killer has already been put to justice. Before we could even begin."

"Are you Lieutenant Morgan?" A voice asked from the door. The man didn't bother to wait for a reply as he made his way into the room. He was wearing an expensive suit, instantly making Dexter narrow his eyes. He should have expected. "I'm Agent Illinois Riley, FBI. I'm here to investigate the circumstances around Captain Maria LaGuerta's murder."

"What? But the case is already practically solved." Debra said with a frown, looking confused. The man raised an arm as if to calm her down.

"I know, but it's regular procedure when a high figure of authority is murdered. It's just to get full disclosure. We will be with you at the station for the next couple of days, and at some point my bosses might pull you out for a while. I know this is not to your liking, but I can't do anything about it." He said.

Debra would usually give him a huge mouthful, but this guy was nicer than most FBI agents she'd met. Well, apart from Lundy, of course. "Alright," Debra sighed, shrugging her shoulders a bit, "That doesn't sound like a problem."

There was some small-talk between the officers in the room, who were not completely sure whether or not to accept Debra's judgment on the situation, but they also knew that they'd best not try to get in her way at the moment. It was smartest if they went with her decision, and so it was.

"We understand that you have all been going through a rough day, and it is quite obvious that working under these circumstances might be a little difficult. We will give you the chance to go home for the night, and we will finish up her. You may finish your reports by the end of the week. It's best that way." Riley said, nodding his head a little at Debra. She nodded back. She actually agreed on that part. The mood around the office was too bad for any effective working, and it was practically impossible to avoid emotional infliction on the work.

"We're finished here for the day," Debra said, her hands on her hips. "Just, uh… go home and cool off a bit. You all need it."

After that, Dexter went back to his office to get some stuff. All this stress, all this tension had only led to one thing… _'I really need to kill someone.'_

"Hey…" Debra said from the door, leaning on the frame with a slightly downed expression. "What's up?"

"Nothing in particular," Dexter replied monotonously, packing some things into his bag. "I'm going to take care of some business and then I'll be going home."

"Business?" She asked, frowning a little.

"Yeah, just some… shopping."

…

_I can't say I was actually lying. This job requires a little shopping, particularly large amounts of plastic wrap. And some trash bags. After taking care of this, I'll get on the hunt. I won't be doing any killing tonight, but I will be getting some research done._

Dexter drove down the little street, waiting in his car until a man left the house he was standing in front of. He waited for about an hour, and it was safe to say that his instincts weren't working as well as they used to. Maybe it was because of everything that had happened lately, but he took no notice of the car that had pulled up at the side of a drive-way only ten or fifteen meters behind him.

He kept watching the house until finally someone left. It never really failed with his new 'prey'. Every night, at between eight and nine, he would leave for the club. Dexter left his car and pulled on his black gloves, walking toward the house. He knelt down in front of the door and started picking the lock, getting it open in no time. As soon as he opened the door, he shuddered.

_How come I seem to be the only murderer who actually keeps a clean house._

There were garbage bags stacked against the wall in the hallway, a rotten stench emerging from all of them. Dexter swatted away a few fruit flies before making his way deeper into the house, starting with the living room. The house was dark and grim, and the foul smell should have made it impossible to even exist within the walls of the house.

_It's almost as if I should kill him solely based on the fact that he lives like this._

He started looking around, opening drawers and looking at pictures. There was nothing in the living room, so he made his way upstairs to the bedroom. To no surprise, it was dirty and smelly, just like downstairs. He couldn't see anything in there, considering the curtains were closed and the sun was practically all gone at that moment. He brought out a tiny flashlight from his pockets and started looking around the room. There were some dirty clothes on the floor, with stains all over them. Most of it looked like pizza sauce, but that one stain…

_Could you be the lady-killer I've been looking for? Do I see sheets of plastic in your future?_

He knelt in front of the shirt on the floor and picked a tiny plastic container out from his other pocket. He pulled out a little cotton-stick for DNA sweeping. He pushed it onto the soft fabric of the t-shirt, and it seeped into the DNA stick. It was still wet. He used his flashlight to look at the colour. If that wasn't blood, he'd been unlucky. He put the stick back in the plastic container and put it back in his pocket.

He figured it could be smart to search for more, so he went over to the nightstand. He opened the little drawer and found a little box of pills. He took one and put it into his pocket, and figured he could check it out at the station. For all he knew, it could be what the guy used to drug his victims. He just really hoped he didn't drug them in that room, because it would disturb him greatly knowing that someone was actually willing to come with him into his house. Oh well, some people would do just about anything for money.

He figured it best to check the bathroom too, but just as he was about to exit the bedroom he heard someone open the door downstairs. He could hear a muffled voice. "Why the fuck's my door open, huh?"

_Crap. Why would he back already?_

Dexter closed the door to the bedroom and ran to the other side of the room, trying to stay as silent as possible. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He needed to be quick. He scurried the curtains to the side and opened the window silently. There was no roof underneath the window, no platform – nothing. Only a pool. He'd have to ask himself again sometime later how this guy could even afford a pool, and he was utterly afraid of jumping into it considering how dirty it probably was. But it was the only chance he had. He stood in the edge of the window before dropping himself down, closing his eyes. He felt the cold water surround him as he went underneath the surface, his clothes instantly starting to get soaked with the water. He broke the surface only seconds later and started climbing off the edge of the pool.

He ran around the block after jumping the fence, his clothes dripping wet with nasty pool water. He hurried to his car and got in, hurriedly removing the DNA sample from his pocket. Luckily, no water had slipped through, but the pill had been ruined beyond recognition. "Let's hope the blood is enough," he sighed and started up his car. Again, he didn't notice the car starting up just behind him as he drove off.

…

"It's nightie-night time," Dexter smiled as he emerged from the bathroom, rubbing the towel against his newly showered hair. He'd gotten a tiny sniffle from that cold water, but hopefully he wouldn't catch a cold. He carried Harrison into his room and put him to bed, sighing heavily as he got back into the living room. Today had been a tiring day. He retrieved a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and sat down on the couch. He wasn't usually a drinker, but today was special. Today was necessary.

He poured himself a glass and drank it slowly. That pretty much reminded him why he usually didn't drink whiskey. He put the glass down on the table and sighed again, leaning back on the couch with closed eyes. He couldn't wait to get back to the station and check the blood on the test he'd taken. He really needed a kill. The urge was getting stronger with every hour that went by. Maybe it was because he needed something to take his mind off of LaGuerta. He'd killed Estrada earlier that night, but seeing his sister kill someone right in front of him took away that feeling of peace. He needed another kill to put his mind at ease. Someone who truly, truly deserved it.


	4. Chapter 4

Debra was furious. Absolutely furious. At seven o'clock in the morning, she'd gotten a message from the station saying that they didn't need to come in to work that day either. She obviously knew that it actually meant they weren't _allowed _to come to work that day, due to the on-going investigation by the FBI.

"Federal bureau of investigation my fucking ass. Trying to take our damn job," she mumbled under her breath as she looked through the fridge, trying to find something to eat. This was going to be a long day, and a stressing one at that. She had a few things she'd like to discuss with Dexter after having followed him the day before. What the hell was he even thinking? Going for a kill so little time after the LaGuerta incident? Yes, Debra was truly pissed.

Furthermore, Dexter had told her to take all her bottled up emotions to him. Maybe she should do just that.

…

Dexter had been up all night, trying to do some research on his new 'prey'. It didn't really take him long to find him guilty of killing several women, but he also had to research his routine a little better. That morning, when he got the message saying that the FBI would be having the station for another day, he saw it as a perfect opportunity to set up his kill room. He had searched up an old, abandoned indoors swimming pool only one block away from the house of his new victim. It seemed like the perfect location, seeing as no one was there. Especially not at night.

Dexter ate a good breakfast that morning, making sure he was properly filled with energy for the day. He left his apartment early with a cup of coffee in his hands and his killing attire on. He got into his car and drove off. Debra had just arrived at the parking lot when she saw Dexter pull out, and decided to follow him. She needed to talk to him after all.

She wasn't exactly sure where he was heading, but it did seem like it was somewhat in the same direction as the night before. It didn't surprise her, really. It made sense that he would try to pick up where he had left off.

After making a couple of turns, Dexter was certain that he was being tailed. It didn't take him long to recognize the car that was following him either. Damn it, why was she so persistent? He really needed this kill, and he couldn't have his sister interfere now. She was already pretty pissed off at the whole FBI thing, so he knew that she'd be pissed if she found out he was going for another kill. He had to get rid of her somehow.

He thought back on the things that had happened so many years before, when Doakes had been following him every single night. That one time, he had managed to shake him off on a yellow light. Maybe the same thing would work with Debra – after all, she would probably be too paranoid about the LaGuerta thing to break the law now.

And just as he thought, he managed to lose her on the yellow light, slipping over the road just a second before the lights turned red and Debra had to stop.

_That was almost too easy. You really must train, dear sister. Now, it's time I got to work._

…

He broke open the lock on the door to the abandoned swimming hall, pulling the bag with everything he was going to need to set up his room inside. He made his way into the men's wardrobes, deciding to use the benches in the middle as his table. He started rolling out the plastic wrap to cover the entire room, which was actually quite big. It could take a while, but he had a lot of time.

The building in itself was untidy. Dirty. Not exactly the perfect environment for Dexter to work in, considering his completely compulsive behavior and the fact that he needed everything to be perfectly sterile. That's why he always set up his rooms the way he did. Made for a more comfortable job, and at least he didn't have to look sloppy in front of his… customers.

Now all he had to hope for was that Debra would lay off and stop bothering him for the rest of the day. He really didn't need anyone on his tail at the moment, it stressed him out. Debra already knew, of course, but he knew she wouldn't be happy about him doing this so soon after LaGuerta's death. She'd have his head for it.

Debra cursed to herself as she drove around the neighborhood, trying to find out where Dexter had gone. She assumed he'd set up somewhere around the neighborhood from the day before, so that's where she looked. "God fucking damnit, Dexter."

…

"It looks completely normal, Captain. There's nothing more to see." Agent Riley said to his captain, looking over a bunch of files and pictures from the crime scene. "Captain LaGuerta was killed by Estrada, and she killed him. It really is that simple."

"So, biggest possibility is… She released this guy to try and frame Dexter Morgan, and when it didn't work, she regretted her decision… and she wanted to take him back in. And then all of this happened?"

"Yes, that's the theory we're aiming for."

"I see. Well, it definitely seems plausible, but let's keep looking into it. You never know when you might have missed something, Agent."

"I agree, Captain." The agent nodded. "We could always find something that doesn't add up if we look hard enough. You can't be too careful when you're dealing with a police murder."

…

Dexter sat in his car outside his target's house. It was almost eight o'clock, so it wouldn't be long until he would exit the house.

_This is it. This is what I've missed so much. Being on the job, just waiting. I'm like a beast, waiting for its prey to emerge from their hiding place, shrouded in a false sense of safety that makes them believe they can do anything. But they can't. The beast is always waiting, lurking, knowing when you are up to something bad. It's peaceful, really. Knowing that I'm about to kill someone, I feel a certain… euphoria. I've needed this for a long time._

Only a few minutes more, and the door opened. The man walked down the driveway with a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips as he fumbled with getting his keys into his pockets. Dexter spotted him and took a deep breath in excitement. He pulled out his syringe and hid it in his palm, walking out of the car. As he walked towards the man, his eyes narrowed, he felt it. The excitement of it all. It was amazing.

"Hey, excuse me," Dexter said to the man, gaining his attention. "You lost your keys." He informed, pointing at the ground behind the man. He turned around and looked at the ground.

"What the fuck?" He asked with a gruff voice. "I can't see shit." He said, but in that moment, a syringe entered his neck. It didn't even take a second before he collapsed and Dexter caught him in his arms, carrying him into the car.

"I'll need to clean my car after dealing with you," Dexter said to the unconscious man after closing the trunk. "You smell just as bad as your house."

Dexter drove back to the swimming hall and carried the man into the killing room. He put a nose pincher on his nose to avoid the smell as he used a knife to cut open his clothes. "At least now you'll be showering under water for the rest of your existence," Dexter huffed, throwing the cut clothes into a plastic bag before hoisting the man onto the bench.

He started covering him in plastic wrap, making sure he was properly stuck on the bench before he sat down and waited. He had given the man a low dose of M-99. He needed him to be awake. He needed to see the life disappear from his eyes. He was definitely going all out that night.

…

Debra kept driving. She refused to give up. She had been driving for hours, and it was getting dark, but she didn't care. She had to find Dexter. And then she saw it. A swimming hall, looking so shabby that it couldn't possibly be inhabited. No, it looked abandoned. Debra drove towards it, and it didn't take long before she found Dexter's car. This was the same way she'd found him in the container with LaGuerta.

She parked next to Dexter's car – parking wasn't easy for her, seeing as how she really only had one good hand to drive with, but she managed somehow – and stepped out of the car. She closed the door as silently as possible and walked inside, trying to find Dexter. She didn't really have to look, because she suddenly heard voices from within one of the wardrobes.

…

"What the… what the fuck?!" The man shouted as he woke up, frantically trying to free himself from his constraints. To no avail, obviously. This guy wasn't exactly Little Chino.

"That is certainly one way to put it," Dexter said with a smirk on his lips. He stood up and got his scalpel, walking over to the man. "I guess this wasn't in your mind when you left your house tonight. Maybe you thought you were the one doing the killing tonight?"

"W-What the hell are you talking about?" The man shouted, wriggling under the plastic sheets.

"I'm talking about those prostitutes you've been killing. You might as well admit it." Dexter said as he sliced the man's cheek, collecting his blood on a glass tile while the man screamed in pain and horror.

"Okay! I admit it, I killed those fucking whores! But I mean, what does it matter? Who cares if some bitches disappear off the streets, huh?!"

"They didn't deserve it!" Dexter suddenly shouted, his anger and frustration finally pouring out of him like a pierced bottle of water. His eyes were dark, and Debra could see that from where she was watching by the door. "They never did anything to harm anyone."

"But they were useless! What do they contribute to society, huh? HUH?!" The man cried, trying desperately to persuade his assailant. That was, of course, an impossibility. "Bitches like that might as well die. It's easier like that, right?! To get rid of them once and for all!"

"SHUT UP!" Dexter roared, scaring the senses out of the man. "They never deserved it," Dexter said in a hushed, fast manner, pushing two fingers against his victim's chest while leaning over him. "But you, on the other hand… you kill innocent people, robbing them of their possibility of living, of getting back on their feet. That is truly horrible."

"W-Who are you? WHAT ARE YOU?!" The man screamed, earning a grin from Dexter.

"I'm something you've never seen. In some ways, I'm like you… but I have standards. Even me, who's filled with nothing but darkness, have standards. Unlike you." He hissed, venom in his voice. "I'm a monster. But at least I know it. You deny it."

"You're a psychopath!"

"Hmm… I guess you could say so. Or well, I was, up until one point. You see, psychopaths have no empathy. You know, the ability to put yourself in someone else's position to think of how they feel. I usually couldn't do that, but I changed. So now, I'm just cold. Very cold."

He picked up a knife from his table and walked back to the man who was just babbling nonsense, freaking out.

"Dexter," a voice called from the door. Dexter spun around in shock and saw Debra standing there, tears in her eyes. She'd found him, but she was crying for some reason. "Please don't say that about yourself," she whispered, walking towards him. She completely ignored the man screaming for help.

"Debra, what are you doing here?" Dexter uttered with a low tone, lowering his knife. Debra just came closer to him. She suddenly punched him in the face, and he groaned in surprise. "What the-" He was punched again, and Debra sighed heavily.

"There. You told me to throw my feelings at you, and I had to get rid of my anger before… I had to calm down, okay. Sorry. Why did you say those things? About yourself, I mean." She said, tears still evident in her eyes.

"Why? Because it's the truth." Dexter said, huffing in a way that said 'isn't that obvious?'

"You must be so lonely," Debra gulped. She stroked a finger over the bruise on Dexter's face. "I never realized… you felt like that. Dead on the inside."

"Since when do you care?" Dexter asked suddenly, making Debra wince. "I made you kill an innocent person, I… I'm nothing but bad luck, so why do you care?"

"What? You're my brother, for fuck's sake!"

"Well? Aren't you supposed to be pissed about me being here, killing again?"

"I… I was going to be. But now I realize that I can't be mad. Not when you're feeling like this, Dexter…"

"So, what? You're going to leave me here to kill this man?" Dexter asked, actually hoping she would do just that. He needed to kill.

"I… I want to watch." Debra whispered. Dexter froze.

"You… W-What?" He uttered, his eyes narrowing. "Deb, are you crazy? It's not good for you!"

"I want to see you!" She yelled, making Dexter step back in surprise. Debra's voice was more calm now. "I want to see you… for who you really are. I want to see you in your most honest moment."

"Debra, you can't… it could break you." Dexter whispered.

"I'm already broken! Trust me Dexter, I… I need to see this. I need to understand you."

Dexter swallowed heavily and slumped his shoulders, tightening his grip on the knife. The man on the table was starting to freak out again as Dexter took a step closer to him. Debra watched, leaning against the metal lockers that were there. She was scared, but she needed to see this. She had to. She held her breath as she saw Dexter's gloved fingers shift on the knife, raising it into the air. She moved her eyes to his face. That's where she had to look.

She could see him move. His mouth opened, his eyes widened, and his lips twitched a little as he plunged the knife downwards, into the man. Debra could hear the sound of metal piercing through plastic and flesh. Dexter breathed out in relief, as if he had just let out months of pent up frustration. Debra could feel her heart beating in her chest. He looked so honest, and so natural. Dexter turned to her, his lips quivering. In that moment, Debra could only see Dexter for one thing, and one thing only – She saw him for something beautiful.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I must admit that writing Debra as a character is going to be utterly difficult now that I've seen the canon version of her in the two new episodes of Dexter. Even so, I'll push on. That's the point of fanfiction, isn't it? Making something different from the main plot? I hope the fact that Debra _doesn't _hate Dexter doesn't make the plot in this fanfic less believable.

* * *

Okay, so, being a psychopath was something Dexter had knowledge about – he'd pretty much lived it for the entirety of his life. But one thing he didn't have much experience with was – he didn't know what to call it yet, so therefore – insanity. Especially not when his own sister was starting to show signs of utter disturbance within her brain.

He could understand that she didn't turn him in to the police for being a serial killer – no wait, he couldn't really understand it – but it still wasn't even close to wanting to watch him kill someone. It had happened by accident before, but Debra telling him to kill someone while she was watching… yeah, that was beyond him.

_Is this my fault? Have I turned Debra into something completely different? I need to help her. I need to make sure she doesn't throw herself off the edge. This can't be normal. She should hate me by now, yet she… yet she seems fascinated. Seeing me kill someone would usually make her sick to her stomach. But no, not this time. Last night, she… she looked so intrigued as she watched me kill. I don't understand, but I have to. I have to understand if I want to help her._

Dexter groaned and rubbed his temples before emptying his coffee cup with a contented sigh. _Nothing as good as coffee in the morning._

He picked up the plate and coffee mug from the kitchen counter and put it inside the dishwasher. He wasn't sure what to do that day, but chances were that they'd be able to get back to work again. He'd probably see Debra there too, and he really had no idea what to say to her once he did. He was thinking of it, when his pocket vibrated. He fished his phone out and unlocked it, looking at the message on the screen.

"Speak of the devil," he said to himself as he put the phone back in his pocket. Upon deciding that there was nothing more to find out about Captain LaGuerta's death, the FBI had gathered their stuff and gotten the hell out of Miami without as much as a debrief. Dexter didn't complain, though. He kind of missed work, even.

Dexter went to the bathroom and slung his shirt into the wash-bin before returning to his room to find another shirt to put on. The sun shone through the blinds in his room and lit up his torso, making his huge scars even more visible. He was lucky that he didn't have to show himself without clothes in his workplace – explaining all his injuries was not something he'd want to do. He briefly recalled the gunshot scar on his thigh, grinning a little to himself. _If only they knew._

He fished a light pink shirt out of the closet and pulled it on, smoothening out the edges over his white pants. After buttoning up his shirt, he got his bag and left for the station.

…

Debra hadn't slept too well that night. She'd been in bed, thinking about the events of the night before, when she saw Dexter kill that man. She'd been full of wonder and curiosity, and she already knew that she wanted to see more of that. She wanted to see more of the true Dexter.

Even without sleep, Debra was still able to get up that morning after seeing the message on her phone. Time to get back to work, it seemed. She didn't bother making a proper breakfast, instead just eating an apple before heading down to the station with a coffee mug in her car.

As soon as she entered, she greeted everyone there, exchanging nods and tiny smiles with the people who worked there. On her way to her office, Batista stopped her. He handed her a flier. "For Maria's funeral… you'll be there, right?" He asked, his eyes a bit big.

"Of course," Debra nodded, trying to stay composed. Batista smiled softly and patted her hand before continuing his walk around the department, handing out fliers to everyone. Debra walked into her office and put the flier down on her desk after reading it through once. Going to LaGuerta's funeral wasn't going to be easy, but she knew she had to do it. It was a bit ironic, though, showing up at the funeral of a person you killed with your own hands.

She turned around and walked over to the door to close it, and upon doing so, she saw Dexter step out of the elevator with his bag in his hand. Debra stopped completely in her tracks as she looked at him, and it didn't take long before he acknowledged her presence. His head turned to look at her, and she could see the confusion on his face. She, on the other hand, met his look with a shy smile. Her eyes flickered between him and the floor. She pulled herself together, swallowed heavily and stopped smiling. She probably looked like a total idiot.

Dexter just narrowed his eyes at her as she closed the door and retreated back inside her office. _Weird_.

Debra sat down by her desk and buried her face in her hands. Why was she reacting like that? "Am I fucking _blushing?_" She asked herself, sounding quite embarrassed. "Jesus fuck… blushing at a serial killer, way to go Deb."

Dexter went to his lab to finish up some simple blood reports, just to get into the working cycle again. It felt good, really. It didn't take long, though, before call came in about a body. They went down to the given location.

Dexter stepped out of his car a bit away from the crime scene and walked towards it. It was one the beach – which seemed to be quite typical for Miami – lying right next to a bench. Dexter ducked under the yellow bindings and walked over to the body where several detectives were already gathered. This included Batista, Masuka and Debra, for the time being.

"What have we got?" Dexter asked as he pulled on his rubber gloves, approaching them on the field. Masuka took a deep breath before starting to speak.

"Victim's name is Jeremy Borman, Caucasian male, 32 years old. Single stab wound to the neck." Vince said, pointing with two gloved fingers against the wound on the victim's neck. Dexter nodded and crouched down, tilting the body's head a little to the side to get a better look at the entry wound.

"No murder weapon has been found on or near the body. Bruises on the victim's arm shows signs of struggle, but there are no prints showing up so far," Debra said, sounding a bit nervous when talking to Dexter. She hadn't spoken to him after the night before, so things were a bit… awkward.

Dexter nodded again, seeming quite focused on the knife wound. "There's no blood around the victim except from on the clothes, so it's safe to say that the body was moved here quite some time after the time of death. I'd say at least four hours." He said, narrowing his eyes a little. "Murderer must have been pretty strong… knife severed both the external and internal carotid artery in one stab, making the victim bleed out in a matter of seconds. Judging by the angle of the wound, and the victim's height – this is, if he was standing on two legs when he was stabbed – the killer is around 6 feet tall."

"What about this?" Masuka asked, holding up the victim's arm. "It doesn't make sense. This is too perfectly done to be an accident on the killers' part." He stated as he showed the right hand to Dexter. It was missing every finger. "If this guy was right handed, I'm afraid he won't have much luck with the ladies from now on," he said, laughing in self-satisfaction.

Dexter ignored his dirty comment and looked at the hand. The fingers were removed from just above the base, and the cuts were perfectly clean. "These cuts were done with… almost surgical precision," Dexter said, looking as if he was thinking very hard. "You see this?" He asked, holding the hand up for everyone to see.

"Ay… must have been done with a scalpel or something, right?" Batista asked, looking down at the body.

"Exactly," Dexter said, smiling a little. He liked it when people understood what he was getting at. He was just about to say something more, that probably only he and Masuka knew, before Debra spoke.

"The tissue around the cuts… it's slightly blue." She said, curiously.

"U-Uh… yeah," Dexter uttered, sounding surprised. "Which tells us that it was done-"

"Post mortem?" Debra asked, again cutting Dexter off.

"Uhm… yeah, basically," Dexter huffed, a surprised smile pulling on his lips. Batista patted Debra's back, and she did her best to force back her smile.

"I like a smart girl," Masuka chuckled cheerfully.

"Shut up, Vince," Debra laughed. It was almost a bit scary, but it seemed that if they worked together, they could probably get over LaGuerta's death without too many problems. They started seeming happy again already. Of course, it was deeper with Debra and Dexter, but maybe there was hope for them too.

"We should just keep running DNA tests on the body, and someone should probably check out the properties of the victim… we might find something. I'll write up a blood report, and uh…"

"I can try and figure out what the missing fingers could mean," Batista said, nodding his head a little. "Good way to maybe distract myself from everything that's been going on lately."

"Yeah," Debra said, nodding in agreement.

"Alright, I'll stay here and take some pictures," Dexter said. The others left, and he stayed there with his camera, getting a picture from every angle, also photographing the stab wound and the hand with the missing fingers.

_What could this be? It could be a random mark, but… it could be something else. A ritual, maybe. Will we have another serial killer on our hands? I guess we'll figure that out if and when another body pops up with the same injuries. It guess all that remains for now is to wait. This could prove to be interesting._

Dexter finished taking pictures and headed back to the station to finish up his blood report. For some reason, Dexter wanted this one. He wanted to put an end to the person who did this, because for some reason, he seemed interesting. And he would be even more interesting if he killed again and Dexter could figure out the point of the missing fingers. Five missing fingers. Would it be five the next time too?

But more important was Debra. He had to look after her, make sure she didn't do anything stupid. He wanted to sit down and talk to her, but he didn't know what to say. What do you say to someone after killing someone in front of them on their request? Either way, he had to talk to her. Somehow.

After finishing up his blood report, he dropped it off by Batista's desk and went to the elevator to get home. As he pushed the button and the doors started to close, Debra came jogging towards him. He put his hand between the doors to stop them from closing. She made it inside, her breath a bit heavy as she stood against the elevator wall.

"What, you getting tired from running to the elevator?" Dexter asked playfully, making Debra chuckled.

"Shut up. I just ate lunch, you fuckwad," she said with a smile, apparently unable to pry her eyes off of Dexter. He smiled a little too, looking down at his feet.

"Look, uh…" He started, looking back up at Debra, not even noticing her deep gaze. "Do you have time to come over for a while later?" He asked her, tilting his head a little.

"Uh, sure, I could come over right away." She said. Dexter nodded. He really needed to talk to her.

…

Debra parked right next to Dexter's car, and they walked into the apartment together. Debra slumped down on the couch while Dexter went and got them both a beer. "I take it you'll be able to drive after one beer?" Dexter asked rhetorically.

"Obviously," Debra grinned. She grabbed the beer, and Dexter sat down on the other side of the couch. He was trying to think of a way to start the conversation. Debra was idly trying to dust off her denim shirt and purple, tightfitting jeans.

"Look, Deb… we need to talk," Dexter said, putting his unopened bottle of beer down on the table. He could see Debra's eyes faltering, as if she had been preparing for it, but hoping that he wouldn't bring it up. "Yesterday… what… what was that?" He asked, his eyes pleading to her, wanting to know what was going on.

"It was what it was," Debra said with a shrug, trying to brush it off. She knew it was weird, she really did, but… she couldn't help it. There was no way she could. "I just wanted to… see you, you get me? I just wanted to fucking see who you really were, instead of having to look at this fucking mask all the time!" She exclaimed.

"Deb…" Dexter uttered.

"I'm tired of it. I'm tired of having to look at you hiding yourself in plain sight all the time, when I know that there's so much more to you than meets the eye."

"And that's why you wanted to see me kill someone? Deb, I don't get it." Dexter said, confused.

"Because when you kill someone… when you get that relief… you don't hide anything. You open up, you indulge, you… you become completely honest. With yourself, and with your surroundings, and when you do that, you become…"

"What?"

"Nothing… never mind," Debra mumbled, looking down at her hands that were folded neatly in her lap.

"I don't understand… why you're not mad at me. Why you don't detest me. I made you kill an innocent person." Dexter said, his mouth hanging a bit open in wonder and confusion.

"I did what I did to protect you," Debra said, biting her lip softly. "Because the thought of living without you was just… impossible. I'd never be able to take it." She mumbled, looking back up at Dexter. "But if we're going to keep this up, I need to see you. Not just your mask."

"Well how do you expect me to do that?" Dexter asked, shaking his head. "I can't let you see those things anymore, Debra… it gets to you, and it… it's going to mess you up."

"You know what? Why don't you stop making decisions for me already?" She asked, frowning. She started sounding a bit annoyed. "The next time you go to kill someone… you take me with you."

"Deb, you know I can't do that," Dexter told her, shaking his head again.

"No, you listen here, Dex… you're going to do exactly as I tell you to. Because if you want to make sure I don't fuck myself up too much, you need to look after me, right? You should do that by listening to my wishes, you got that?"

Dexter sighed. Yeah, this was going to get difficult for both of them. But he really had no other choice at the moment. "Okay, okay. I'll bring you with me." He said, slumping his shoulders in defeat.

"So, got anyone else on your radar yet?" Debra asked. She grinned a little, looked at Dexter, and bit her lip. She took a deep, almost unsteady breath, after speaking.

"No, not yet… shouldn't be too difficult to find someone, though. But at the moment, my main goal is the one from today. I have a feeling he'll kill again."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see then, right?" Debra grinned, cocking her head to the side. Dexter couldn't help but to laugh a little.

"Yes, you're right. Now we wait."


	6. Chapter 6

__A/N: I just want to make it clear that this chapter is going to be a little dark. Not dark as in "something bad happens", but the themes and the boldness of it all is a bit more over the edge than anything I've ever written. I don't want to spoil too much, but obviously, this chapter is quite perverted, and I think it's the way that I write it that, at least to me, makes it seem a bit dark. But it's nothing bad, so please do enjoy the chapter, and leave a review if you can be bothered to do so. Thank you.

* * *

_Four days. Exactly four days. It'd seem like a coincidence, but I think this is the same person. It probably won't be long before the others draw the same conclusion. There are so many similarities, so it should be pretty obvious. I just hope I'm able to get to him before they do._

They stood by the shipping yard, policemen and crime scene investigators looking all around the crime scene for any clues or prints that could help them in their investigation. In the center of it all, right next to a big container, was a body. Dexter was crouched down next to it, his arms leaning on his knees as he looked at the body for a while. His eyes were squinted as he observed, trying to get it all into his memory bank before starting to snap a few pictures around the entire body, circling it like a hungry vulture.

His camera flashed several times as he took the pictures, before he turned the flash off and took a few normal pictures to make sure it didn't get too light. It was midday, and Miami was pretty sunny at that time of day, after all.

"So, what do you think?" Masuka asked as he came up to Dexter after finishing his talk with Batista, and expectant look on his face.

Dexter look at Masuka and waited for Batista to come over before he started, pointing two gloved fingers at the body in front of them. "The wound in the neck is the same as the victim with the missing fingers… Both carotid arteries were severed with one almost surgical stab to the jugular vein. There are no external signs of struggle, but that could just as well be due to the… lack of limbs." He said, clearing his voice as he observed the cuts where all the limbs had been removed on the body.

"I don't understand," Batista said, shaking his head in exasperation. "If this is the same guy, why would he go from taking fingers to taking whole limbs?" He asked, his eyes shifting between Dexter and Masuka.

"He's counting," Masuka said, almost as if it wasn't a big deal at all. Dexter looked at him with furrowed brows.

"He's what? Wait… you're right." He mumbled, his eyes widening with realization. "He's counting, you're right."

"Counting? How come?" Batista uttered.

"Five fingers, four limbs… and it's been four days," Masuka said, humming under his breath as he tried to think. "We have three days before there'll be another body."

…

Dexter sat in his apartment, a map of Miami splayed out on the desk in front of him. He bit his lip as he plotted down some specific locations on it, trying to make some sense out of the case whatsoever. It wasn't exactly easy, seeing as he only had two crime scenes with extreme lacks of evidence at the present time. He tapped the dry end of the marker against the map, trying to think as hard as possible, but to no avail.

He sat there for a while, contemplating, while Harrison played with his toys on the living room floor. After staring at the map for too long, Dexter started spacing out, and he didn't even notice the knock on the door, and the person outside had simply decided to let themselves in.

"Dex?" The voice called, and Dexter snapped back to reality, his head turning to look at who was standing behind him.

"Deb?" He uttered, shaking his head to get himself back on track, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "What are you doing here?" He asked, keeping his eyes clenched and his fingers pinched over his nose in concentration.

"Just decided to check up on you… what the fuck are doing, Dexter, spacing out like that? Something on your mind?" She asked, looking at him with an almost worried look on her face.

Dexter shook his head and opened his eyes, placing his palms on top of the map in front of him. He sighed heavily. "I'm just thinking… trying to make some sense out of this." He said, pointing at the circles he'd plotted down on the map. Debra placed her hands next to his, and he noticed how her fingers barely brushed against his, but she didn't seem to notice it as well as he did. At least she didn't act like it. She leaned over the desk to get a good look at the map, and her hair gently swiped across Dexter's neck, tickling his skin.

Dexter wanted to move away, or avert his gaze, or have Debra get away, but he was too dumbfounded that he was simply frozen in place by the sheer incapability of understanding how to handle the situation. He noticed how, when leaning over, Debra had a little bit of cleavage, and he noticed how well her collarbones accented her shoulders as he could barely see underneath the hem of her shirt, and he noticed how-

"Beats me," Debra huffed, snapping Dexter out of his daze. Debra stepped back and looked at Dexter, quirking an eyebrow with an unknowing smile. "Only thing that's obvious is that he does it all in numbers… four days since the last one, and four limbs." She said, shrugging lightly.

Dexter looked at her for a while before his eyes lit up with realization. "You're right," he mumbled and turned back to the map in a hurry, confusing Debra. Of course she was right, it was common knowledge by know that he was counting. But Dexter seemed to have noticed something else too. "He does all of it in numbers. Everything." He mumbled to himself, looking at the plots on the map before opening his laptop, doing some quick searches before turning the laptop towards Debra. "These are the locations the bodies were found at." He said.

"Five keys beach…" She started, and then she repeated it; "Fucking five keys beach! What's the other one called?" She asked hurriedly, and Dexter switched tabs to the other search he'd made. "Right. Of course. Shipping dock four." She nodded, biting her lip in concentration.

Dexter thought for a moment before opening his drawer and handing a file from there to Debra. "Look at the age of the first victim, Jeremy Borman." He said, looking at her with expectance in his eyes.

"He was, uh… 32." She said, shaking her head in confusion. She looked at Dexter, who simply nodded at her – he wanted her to figure this one out herself. He knew she'd make it, and it didn't take many seconds before she did. "32. Three plus two is fuckin' five!" She exclaimed, but held her mouth shut once she remembered Harrison was in the room and she should attempt not to teach him any bad words. "The one from today was 31," she whispered after moving a bit closer to Dexter. "So that makes four. So, what, the next one's going to be 30, at some place with three in the name?" She asked, her eyes lit up with curiosity and excitement.

"Either that, or he's going to be 21," Dexter said. "Considering up until now, he's used numbers that has to be added together, instead of simple ones like 50 and 40."

"Oh, that makes sense," Debra nodded, and it took her some time to realize. But once she did, she almost regretted even thinking about it. "Oh, shit…"

"Yeah," Dexter mumbled, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "The one after that again is probably going to be 11 years old."

"Which means we have to fucking find this guy." Debra mumbled, and Dexter nodded in agreement, looking back at the map.

"Three days. I have three days to try and pinpoint a location. I'll have to think hard, but I'll hopefully be able to manage it somehow." He sighed, tapping his fingers impatiently against his desk, and his distress was clearly shown on his entire composure. "I won't be able to get any of this done like this," he said, looking up at Debra. "I have to… uh…"

Debra looked at him with furrowed brows before snapping her head back in both surprise and embarrassment. She tried to force her blush back her hands awkwardly finding their place behind her back. "O-Oh… fuck, yeah, talk about being open." She mumbled before clearing her throat, trying to stay calm. "I'll, uh, give you some time to… you know…" She smiled nervously and did a kind of jerking motion in the air, making Dexter cock his head with a deep frown on his face.

"What?" He asked, and Debra stopped the motion mid-air, also looking mildly confused. Dexter, who had finally caught on to what she meant, gave off a disgusted face, his mouth hanging wide open. "Deb, what the… no!" He exclaimed, looking both flustered and ashamed.

"Oh. Sorry." Debra said, gritting her teeth.

"Ew, jesus," he groaned, rubbing his temples with an exasperated sigh. "I need to… do my thing." He said, perching an eyebrow in hope of Debra catching onto what he meant.

"Oh. Oh! That makes more sense." She exclaimed, nodding her head, trying to ignore the fact that the thought of her brother killing someone was more normal to her than the thought of her brother masturbating. Talk about having your priorities in place.

"I've had one put on hold for a few weeks, just in case. I know his routines, his schedules, all of it… I have about… three hours before he gets out from work. I need to set up a kill room." Dexter said after giving his watch a glance, and then he looked back up at Debra. She looked at him as if she was expecting him to say something more, her eyebrows perking up. "What?"

"I hope you're not forgetting," Debra said, lifting her shoulders a little. "I'm coming with you." She said, instantly earning a sigh from Dexter. But he knew that he couldn't discuss it any further, seeing as how he would lose anyway.

"Fine. I can pick you up when I've set everything up." He said, grabbing his car-keys from a drawer before standing up to walk to his bedroom. Debra followed behind him, leaning on the door-frame as Dexter crouched down by his closet and pulled out a black box, fishing his pouch with killing tools and the tinier pouch with the M-99 syringes from it.

"I want in on the entire thing," Debra said suddenly, with a monotonous voice and a hollow look on her face, which surprised even Dexter.

"You… what?" He asked, frowning in confusion.

"As in, I want to join the entire… uh…"

"Ritual?"

"Yeah, ritual, if that's what you call it."

"Why?"

"I just want to. I want to see all of it."

"It's boring."

"I don't care."

Dexter sighed and shrugged his shoulders. Debra knew why she wanted to come with him, but she didn't tell him. She just wanted to know him as good as possible. She wanted to see all of him for what he really was.

"Let's go," Dexter said, and Debra followed suit. "Harrison, you're going to meet up with Jamie today. Come on." He said with a soft smile, waving Harrison over. He could see his son smile widely and run towards them, and after getting their shoes on, they all left in Dexter's car.

After dropping Harrison off at Jamie's place, Dexter and Debra drove to the closest store where they could get their hands on large amounts of plastic wrap and black garbage bags. As Dexter skimmed the aisles to get everything he needed, Debra constantly looked at his face, wanting to know what kind of expressions he made when he was preparing. He looked sort of… exhilarated. After finishing their shopping trip, they drove further, towards the outskirts of town. They pulled up a few houses over from their destination, taking the supplies in their hands before walking down the street.

"Where are we going?" Debra asked. She was looking around, and the neighborhood they were in looked quite shabby and run down.

"That house over there." Dexter replied, pointing forwards. "This neighborhood was closed down a few years ago because of some internal affairs. Never got opened up again." He said. They walked to the house and Dexter opened the door, already knowing that these houses weren't locked. They made their way into the living room that was still partly furnished with a broken couch standing in the middle of the room. Dexter handed a pair of rubber gloves to Debra and put a pair on his own hands.

"So, where do we start?" Debra asked him, her eyes flickering back and forth in the room. Dexter pointed at the couch.

"You can start by taking off the pillows on the couch, we'll need some space." He said as he walked over to the windows and reached up to pull the blinds down, removing quite a lot of light from the room. He walked over to a door and opened it, finding a little shed behind it, where a tall lamp was conveniently placed. He pulled it out and coupled it up, turning the light on. "Okay, what we do first is… we cover the floors in plastic." Dexter said, his hands motioning towards the floor, rubbing with flat hands at the air. Quite the gesticulator.

"Alright, uh… how exactly do we go about covering the entire fucking floor in plastic as effectively as possible?" She asked, frowning a little. Dexter couldn't help but to chuckle a little as he handed a roll of plastic to Debra.

"You place it down, and you kick it. Just make sure to move furniture away first." He said demonstrating it to Debra once. As soon as she got the hang of it, they got to work on covering the rest of the room. Once in a while, Debra would peek up and look at Dexter as he worked, trying to catch glimpses of his face, his expressions, his posture. She could see the cracks, where his true colors were emerging, but just barely. He hadn't let loose yet. But he would later, and she knew it.

After they finished the work on the kill room, Dexter shot a glance at his watch. "We should get going. I just need to change clothes by the car, while you… I think I have an extra apron you can use." He said. Debra nodded, and they walked back to the car in silence. The sun had started to set, and the town was getting darker. Dexter popped the trunk open and grabbed his kill shirt from there, hurriedly changing into it. He obviously didn't notice Debra looking at him as he changed. He closed the trunk again, and they got into the car and started driving towards the target's workplace.

They pulled up outside a hardware store and waited. Luckily, there were no customers around at that time of night, and their target was working a one-man shift. After waiting in the car for about fifteen minutes, a tired looking man with short red hair exited the store and closed up. He fished his car-keys out of his pocket and started heading towards his car that was parked next to the store.

"Deb, you wait here, alright?" Dexter said more than asked as he put the syringe between his teeth and pulled a couple of black leather gloves on his hands. Debra shook her head.

"I can distract him." She said, and even though Dexter didn't need that kind of help, he didn't really see how it would be a problem. They silently got out of the car, and Dexter spoke with a low voice.

"How are you going to distract him?" He asked, frowning a little. He couldn't really think of anything inconspicuous she could do. Debra looked at Dexter for a while before smirking playfully, biting down on her lip as she started walking. As she walked, she swayed her hips, her rear end moving from side to side, and to Dexter's utter surprise – she pulled it off perfectly.

Debra threw a glance over her shoulder and winked at Dexter, and he was surprised at how positive she seemed despite the fact that they were just about to kill a man. Furthermore, Dexter didn't even realize the effect Debra had on him. She was playing with him, and to be completely honest – she kinda liked it.

She walked like that, passing their target just as he was about to open her car. He threw her a quick glance, and then she turned around to face him.

"Uhm, excuse me," she said with a shy smile playing at her lips, and she brushed some hair away from her face. "Could you tell me where to find the nearest convenience store?" She asked, her head tilting questioningly.

"Oh, uh, sure," the guy said, trying to think of where that store would be. As he was looking down in thought, Debra looked over his shoulder and saw Dexter approaching from the darkness. Almost like a demon, he fit so well with that darkness, as it shrouded him. Debra caught a glimpse of his face. His eyes. They were burning ice cold, his jaw tightly clenched together in concentration.

She could see the fires within him as he approached his prey, she could see the passion and the fury and the anger, and the lust for blood. All of it, in just one glance. And then his syringe was stabbed into the neck of the man in front of Debra, and she looked at Dexter as he stood above the collapsed body, his breathing calm and composed.

She helped him carry the limp body back to the car, and they hoisted it into the trunk next to some of Dexter's stuff. As they got in the car and started driving, Dexter looked shortly at Debra. "Nice acting back there," he said simply, earning a smile in response.

As they arrived back at the house, they both stepped out of the car, and Dexter checked the trunk, having to push the body a little to the side. "Here," he said, handing the black rubber apron to Debra. "You probably won't be joining me in the whole dismembering bit, but you should wear it just in case."

"Alright," Debra replied with a nod and put the apron on, and afterwards she pulled on a new pair of rubber gloves. They threw a couple of quick glances around to make sure they were alone before carrying the body into the house. They put him on the couch that was well covered in plastic, and Dexter used a knife to cut his clothes of and handed them to Debra, who put them in a black trash bag.

After that he covered him in plastic wrap, and Debra was amazed at how quickly he did it. She could see just how used he was to this sort of thing. "Is there… anything I can do?" Debra asked, suddenly sounding a bit nervous. She fidgeted.

Dexter looked at her and thought for a moment before pulling a couple of tiny pictures out of his pocket and handed them to his sister. She seemed partly confused at first, which was obviously no surprise. "Just, uhm… show them to him when he wakes up." Dexter said, nodding at the pictures in Debra's hands. She looked at them. They were pictures of three middle aged men, and she figured it was the people the man on the couch had killed.

They stood in silence for quite some time, just waiting, and then the man woke up. "W-What the… what's going on?" He asked with a slurry voice, seeming confused. Dexter grinned.

"The hour of retribution… is upon you," he said in a hoarse voice. He sometimes liked to say random things like that, maybe just to confuse his victims. Debra took a deep breath before walking up to them, holding the pictures up in front of the man who had just woken up.

"These men… they're dead because of you," she said. Dexter perched an eyebrow as he looked at her. "Does that clear things up a bit for you, you fucking dickwad? We're here to make up for the mess you made!" She exclaimed, anger brimming within her. Dexter stared at her with awe writing all over his face. He hadn't been prepared for this. The anger that boiled inside of Debra, it had to be because of Dexter. He knew it was. And now she was finally letting it out.

"W-What?" The man uttered, his voice choked and weary.

"We're here to make sure you never hurt anyone again. This is the fate that you've been waiting for. How does it fucking feel, huh? Knowing you're about to get sliced up by the bay harbor motherfucking butcher?" She asked and tossed the pictures aside, backing up a little. She had scared herself, that much was apparent on her face. Those words, they weren't like her. She had changed. She wasn't like her old self. Not in the slightest.

Dexter took a deep breath and looked at the man, shrugging his shoulders a bit. "Basically, what my sister just said," he nodded, pursing his lips in thought.

"I-I see," the man said and closed his eyes, exhaling softly. "You're here to take me away. You're angels, right? Here to take me to heaven?" He asked, his voice high pitched.

Dexter cocked his head as he tightly wrapped his fingers around the handle of the knife, and Debra looked in anticipation. "I don't know where you're going," Dexter said, raising the knife into the air with two hands. "I just know that you're going." He said, and the knife plunged into the man's chest. Debra's heart nearly stopped in her chest, and an inaudible yelp escaped her throat. Dexter stood there for a while as the blood trickled from underneath his hands, pushing against the offending piece of plastic that covered the man's chest.

…

The rest of the night was spent in complete silence between the two. They went out on the boat and disposed of the bags, and Dexter even let Debra throw one of them into the water. He didn't like having to bring her with him on his kills, but there was nothing he could do. He might as well let her learn, if she was going to keep coming with him.

After that, they drove the car through the city, and Debra made it clear that she wanted to crash on Dexter's couch. Ever since Dexter had stabbed that man, Debra had been shaking. Her legs had been wobbly, and it was as if she'd forgotten how to walk. Dexter could see it, and he blamed himself. This was going to destroy her, and he knew it. But why wouldn't she listen?

As they arrived at Dexter's apartment, Dexter went to have a quick shower, while Debra simply sat on the couch in silence. She looked impatient, her feet tapping against the floor, her teeth biting into her lip. It was as if she was waiting, and that was exactly what she was. Dexter emerged from the bathroom a while later, and he'd brought some covers and a proper pillow for Debra.

"Good night," he said to her as he left for his bedroom.

"Night," Debra mumbled. As soon as Dexter closed the door to his bedroom and went to bed, Debra tore her clothes off in a hurry, as if she was finally done waiting, and ducked under the covers. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her mind replaying the memories of the night, of Dexter's face. Underneath the covers, her hand started snaking down her stomach, resting for a moment at the hem of her underwear. She hesitated for a moment, but then the pictures of Dexter filled her mind again, and she bit her lip to quell as much sound as possible.

And then, only one room away from the person she was thinking of, she plunged her fingers inside of her soaking insides to try and dull the aching need she had for her brother.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I've been really eager to write this fic lately, which ultimately results in me delaying updates for my other fics. Which, again, is not the best result, but at least this one is moving forwards. Please keep leaving constructive reviews, or simply what you think about whatever the hell it is I'm writing. Also, I realize now that this chapter moves things forward. A lot. It felt a bit as if I was rushing things, but I felt that it was the right time to write what I've written. This chapter, too, is dark themed. Also, I rarely proof read these. I'm very lazy. Sorry about that. :c

* * *

A person can go for a really long time with certain emotions bottled up inside them, tearing them up from within. It'll start as a fissure, as a crack in the skin, but it'll eventually grow to become something much more, something which one will ultimately not be able to run away from. In the end, one might evolve strong urges, and then, they will have to indulge.

But the problem is that there's a feeling of certainty that indulging in one's urges will make the urges go away. But then one might realize that they're still there, gnawing at one from within. And then, once one has fed those urges, they will grow. They will become unbearable.

When Debra Morgan woke up on the couch that morning, there was a calm feeling in her chest. As if a gigantic anvil had been lifted off of her stomach. She couldn't exactly say that the pain of having killed an innocent person was gone, and that was still weighing her down to such an extreme level that she had no idea how to deal with it.

But she'd taken care of something else. She'd indulged in her needs, because they were driving her insane. It had felt as if she was standing on the edge of a cliff, and the suspense was killing her, but once she'd tossed herself off it, she realized that she had survived the fall. And it felt good.

So, even though she was still broken about the fact that she had become a murderer, she'd at least subdued some other problems. She opened her eyes slowly, her eyelids flickering as the bright sun that shone through the blinders hit her eyes. It was hot on the exposed skin of her face and her shoulder, and she just wanted to twist away from it. She turned on the couch, pulling the blanket further up on her upper body to cover her shoulder, but that only resulted in her getting even warmer.

"Damn it," she grumbled and kicked the blanket completely off her body, splaying out straight on the couch. She lay there with her head turned towards the ceiling again, closing her eyes with a soft sigh. She decided to just let the sun hit her face, and she basked in it. It actually felt quite nice.

This was probably the most peaceful morning she'd had in a long while. She could feel a light breeze permeate from somewhere, so she knew that a window was open. That probably meant Dexter was awake. She had no idea what time it was, but she figured early. At least early enough for her to sleep a little longer. Or at least relax a little bit longer. She felt peaceful, after all. That was nice, so she wanted to enjoy it. But she had the feeling that she was forgetting something, and the next time she opened her eyes, she would realize what it was she was forgetting. There were two things she'd remember, and one thing she'd realize.

And so, after what felt like only a few seconds, but was probably about two minutes, Debra could hear the bathroom door open, and she slowly opened her eyes. She was too lazy to bother turning on her side to look, so she just tilted her head and tried to find the source of the sound. Dexter. It didn't take her long to find him though. He came walking into the room, his eyes focused on the sleeves of his white shirt as he tried to fasten the buttons properly.

His shirt was wide open, and he was wearing black suit pants. That's when Debra remembered the first thing. Today. LaGuerta. Funeral.

She felt a pang of panic go through her chest, but she realized that they probably had a lot of time, because Dexter would have woken her up otherwise. And then, when another breeze came in, Debra remembered the second thing. Over the years, Debra had developed a habit of discarding her bra in the middle of the night, throwing it somewhere on the floor. And, as usual, she'd done just that.

And, even worse, she could see her clothes several meters away from the couch. Had she really thrown them that far the other night when she jumped under the sheets and went all out on herself? But the initial panic was enough to freeze Debra in place, just staring at Dexter. She was happy she was wearing boxers and not some flashy shit.(A/N: In case of confusion, some of this will be written somewhat from Debra's thoughts and perspective.)

And then, there was the realization, washing over her in a huge wave. Apparently, she thought, if you feed your urges they only get worse. She looked at Dexter and his open shirt and his bare stomach, and she could just barely see the scar that riddled his side and she felt the tingle go through her entire body, and the anvil came crashing back down on top of her chest, threatening to crush her into the couch. Yeah, she still wanted him. She wanted him even more than before. She wanted to just shove him down on the floor and have him right then and there.

Damn it, it would be easier for her if she could just have hated him instead. But no, of course she had to fall in love with him all over again. She was so fucking tired of being messed up, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't help not hating her brother for being a serial killer. She just couldn't. And in the end, she just had to accept it. She had to accept that she was become a darker person.

But not yet. Not now. She currently had to deal with the fact that Dexter would look up in a few seconds and see her half naked on the couch, and even though it ultimately shouldn't be embarrassing due to the fact that they were brother and sister, Debra's current emotional position made it a bit different.

Damn it, Debra, move! But where? Where would she possibly move when the only way for her to get her clothes was to get closer to Dexter? Oh right, blanket! … Shit, it had landed on the floor. She could reach for it. But then again, she was still a bit frozen in place. Just as she finally started regaining her will to move, and she pulled her leg that was closest to the edge of the couch closer to herself to push herself up from the couch to get the blanket, Dexter looked up.

Great, Deb. Absolutely fucking great. Look what you did. Not only did you not move away from your compromising position, you pulled your leg up and exposed more of your rear end too.

She looked at Dexter hesitantly, not knowing what to do. His eyes were blank as he looked at Debra, looking as if his mind was having trouble registering what was going on. She could see his eyes flicker back and forth, and she realized that he was embarrassed. And suddenly, she felt a bit more powerful.

…

Dexter could barely breathe. The suddenness of the situation was what took him so aback, and he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to say, but even worse, he had no idea where to place his eyes. He was a serial killer, but he couldn't even keep his eyes off of his half naked sister. That wasn't exactly something he was proud of. But he convinced himself that it was simply because of the initial shock that followed that he reacted like that.

…

"Morning," Debra grinned as she slowly pulled both legs closer to herself, deliberately showing off more of her rear end. She didn't even know why she suddenly felt so confident, but there was something about a flustered Dexter that she enjoyed more than she would ever like to admit. She yawned and stretched her arms above her head, resulting in her chest pushing out more before she sat up and slid to her feet.

"How long before the funeral?" She asked, and she was having trouble keeping her voice steady. Both due to embarrassment and the fact that they were actually going to the funeral of the woman she killed, a fact which was slowly starting to come over her, but she tried to ignore. She didn't want to ruin her perfect morning just yet.

Dexter stood there with his mouth hanging slightly open, his eyes following Debra as she tapped her feet over the floor, retrieving her bra from the floor. She put it on and stretched once again, yawning loudly whilst Dexter shook his head to get himself back to reality.

"U-Uh…" He stuttered, frowning a little before checking the watch on his hand. "Two hours." He said, and Debra nodded in response. She did her best to keep her eyes off of Dexter's torso, in fear of getting even more flustered. She mustered up some more courage and went over to where she had discarded the rest of her clothes. She pulled on her t-shirt which was just too short to cover her butt, and then she walked over to Dexter, whose hand was resting at his own wrist. She gingerly pushed his hand away and helped him with the buttons on the wrist of his shirt, smiling playfully at him all the while.

"There you go," she smiled before starting on the buttons in the middle. Her fingers sometimes brushed against the skin of his chest as she buttoned his shirt.

"You know… I can do this myself," Dexter uttered, finally regaining his composure.

"I know," Debra grinned in response, pushing his shoulder playfully after finishing. "It just didn't look like it, is all." She teased before she turned around and walked towards the kitchen counter. Once again, just like the night before, she swayed her hips, and she could practically feel Dexter's eyes on her ass. Was this actually happening? Was he actually paying attention to her in that way? She smiled at the thought before she got herself a cup of coffee and sat down in one of the barstools.

"Don't forget that you'll have to head home before we go to the funeral," Dexter said, doing a perfect job at hiding any sign of hesitation or nervousness from his voice as he spoke. "You don't have any fitting clothes here, after all." He finished, and Debra nodded while she drank from her coffee. Dexter looked at her back, and his shoulders slumped significantly. His sister's demeanor now was so light-hearted and glad, but he knew that she wouldn't be able to keep that up during the funeral. She was going to crack open, and he felt sorry for her. It was going to be tough.

…

Debra showed up for the funeral wearing a black skirt and a woman's suit jacket and shirt, like most other people there that weren't regular police officers (who generally met up in their police uniforms). There were many people there, some with rifles, some with police dogs that stood in salute. It was nothing less than Debra had expected. She saw Dexter there, in the crowd of chairs. The funeral was held outside, something which was fairly normal for the climate in Miami.

Some people were already crying, which didn't surprise Debra in the slightest. The only problem was that she was having trouble not crying herself. There, in a chest, was the body of a woman she killed. And then, it hit her. It was an open casket. Oh god. She couldn't watch. Not now, she wasn't prepared. She hadn't thought of that possibility. She hurried over to Dexter and sat down next to him, her hands folded nervously in her lap.

"It's okay," Dexter said in a hushed tone, putting a hand on her shoulder. She tensed for a second, but did her best to calm herself, trying to control her breathing to some extent. She could feel herself relaxing just a little, but the nervousness was still there. She couldn't let go of it, not completely. The ceremony started not long after, and there were many things to be said by several people who knew LaGuerta, and people from the police force.

In the end, though, came the thing Debra had dreaded for a long time. Batista stood at the front and cleared his throat before motioning towards Debra. "And now a few words from or Lieutenant," he said with a ginger smile, nodding at Debra to try and encourage. She took a deep breath and stood to her feet, walking over in front of the crowd. She swallowed heavily as she looked out at them all, the thought of her being the fault of all this weighing heavily down on her. She couldn't find her words, as they simply got stuck in her throat when she tried to utter them. She was searching for something to say, anything at all, but she was lost.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment. Inside her head, she was a kid again, but she was shrouded in darkness. There was absolute silence in her mind, not a sound to be heard before Debra started walking through the darkness, trying to find her way out. The sounds of a child's feet echoed throughout the walls of her imagination.

_Pitter patter pitter patter._

She was afraid. She was so lost, and so alone, and she had nowhere to go. She had no one to hold onto. She could hear the sound of a wind building up, swooshing about, filling the empty silence that was there. She saw her mother. She reached out to her, but in nothing less than a blink of Debra's eyes, her mother was gone. She saw Harry only moments after, but he disappeared just as well as her mother had.

She started running. The sound of the wind was getting louder, until eventually it was all that she could hear. It built up around her, filling her ears to the very brim, until it felt as if her head would explode. She couldn't take it. The darkness just seemed to wrap tighter around here, trying to trap her completely. She couldn't hear her own feet. The only thing she heard was the wind, screaming inside her ear, trying to make her falter, to give up.

That sound was the sound of her guilt, boiling over, seeping through. All the things she'd done, and all the things she should have done that she never did, that she felt guilty about, it was bubbling over. She was losing control, she was losing the grip on herself, and she felt so alone. She could have made it if she had someone there, someone to rely on, but there was nothing. She kept running. The sound was screaming, shouting, tearing her down, until finally she stumbled. She reached out into the hollow darkness, her fingers gripping tightly around what was in front of her, but there was nothing there. And she fell. She fell into that empty void, and then suddenly it was quiet. Nothing. Complete silence.

But then she heard it. That sound, that soft breathing coming from her side. Someone was there, _someone… _She blinked with her eyes, and she saw the carpeted floor underneath her, and she slowly pushed herself up a little bit with her hands. She was so confused when she saw her hands – they belonged to a child. She got to her knees, and slowly turned her head. There was a bed. That's where the breathing was coming from. She saw the sheets move, and a hand emerged from the blankets to pull it down, revealing a face. It turned to her, its eyes slowly opening, a slightly confused look in its eyes.

"Deb?" It called out, so softly, so carefully. She looked into the eyes of her brother. He couldn't have been more than thirteen. "Deb, what's wrong?" He asked, and his hand moved to her face, carefully touching her cheek to wipe away her tears. "Why are you crying? There's no need to cry," he said softly, got out of his bed and got to his knees, pulling Debra into a hug while he slowly stroked his hand through her hair. "I'm here, okay? Don't cry." He lulled, and she couldn't move. She just sat there, eyes wide and teary. Dexter's voice was but a mere whisper in her ear, calling out to her. "Don't worry, Deb… it's all going to be okay."

She opened her eyes. It felt as if she'd been trapped inside of her head for hours, but from the look of the people's faces, she couldn't have been gone for more than five seconds. They were still looking at her with those expecting eyes, waiting for her to speak. Her eyes hurriedly found Dexter, and his eyes were just as they were in that dream. Or was it a memory? She couldn't remember. All she knew was the she felt safe. With him there, she was safe. That's all that mattered, and it was all that had ever mattered. Nothing else.

"Maria LaGuerta was so much more than our police captain," Debra started, no longer needing to look at Dexter. She could feel his eyes on her, and that was enough. "She was our friend. In the beginning, we… she didn't like me very much. She knew that I had my flaws, and she wasn't very supportive of the fact that I had gotten into Homicide, but… she helped me." Debra said clearly, trying to rid herself of all sad feelings. She didn't want to show her weakness. "She helped point out what I did wrong, and… she brought me back on a steady course. I want us all to remember her as our friend. Even though many of us have had our fair share of fights with her, we… we need to look past that. Because Maria LaGuerta was our friend. A good person. And she was a damn good cop."

…

Dexter decided to go home with Debra, and stay with her for a while. He knew she might need it, and Jamie had agreed to watch Harrison for another night, seeing as she wanted to take him an Quinn to the waterpark the next day. Dexter had inwardly chuckled at that, picturing Quinn at a waterpark. He'd probably be confused.

It was a bit weird to be in Debra's house again, and Dexter was sure Debra felt the same. She hadn't spent as much time there lately because she so desperately wanted to escape from herself. But she seemed to be coming to terms with who she was, and she was trying to accept it. At least that was progress. But her behavior lately, all of it, it was tearing on Dexter. He didn't know what it was, but something was brimming inside of him. A feeling he had felt before, but for some reason, he couldn't put his finger on it. And he definitely had no idea that those feelings were going to burst out that night.

Debra sat down on the couch once they arrived at her house, and Dexter locked the door behind them. He slumped down on the other side of the couch and put his hands on his thighs, contemplating what to say.

"You, uh… you did well today." He said, looking at Debra with what could almost look like sincerity. "You managed to suppress your feelings, and you made a nice speech. That's good," he said. Yeah, maybe not the best compliment, but it'd have to do for now. Debra wanted to tell him why she was able to do it, but she felt that it would be nothing but awkward.

And that was even after all the wooing she'd done towards him that morning and the night before. Yeah. That night when she'd touched herself because of Dexter. She wasn't proud of it, she really wasn't, but it was almost as if she didn't have a choice in the matter. She wanted him too much, and it was starting to become a problem for her. He was her brother. He was a serial killer.

But she'd already told him once before that she was in love with him, but he probably thought those feelings were gone. She'd deluded herself into thinking the same thing for a while.

"Deb," Dexter started, snapping her out her daze. She looked at him, and he was looking at his lap. His voice was timid, as if he didn't know where to start. "We need to talk… about all of this." He said. There was suddenly something to his voice. It was shaking. "About you wanting to see me kill… about how eager you were to help…"

Debra frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She asked, suddenly sounding angry.

"You're supposed to hate it!" Dexter suddenly exclaimed, his voice a bit louder than he had intended, making Debra shoot back a little in surprise. "You're supposed to hate the killing, you're supposed to hate what I did to you, you're… you're supposed to hate me." He said, looking at her with hollow eyes.

"I never said I didn't hate it!" Debra uttered, frowning deeply. There was a bitter tone to her voice. "But if I want to be able to accept you, I need to get used to it. Because it's part of you, and that's why… that's why I can't just turn my back on it."

"WELL WHY IS IT SO FUCKING IMPORTANT TO ACCEPT ME?!" Dexter suddenly snapped, standing up in a rush, and Debra looked scared. Her lips trembled and her eyes were wide in terror. This was it, Dexter thought. These were the feelings bottled up inside of him. Anger. Frustration. But most of all; confusion.

"D-Dex," Debra uttered, but it was too late to talk him out of it. He had grabbed her wrist, and she yelped in pain. It hadn't properly healed yet, even though her bandages were off. It was still painful. Dexter yanked at her arm and she was forced to stand from the couch before Dexter pulled her with him and slammed her against the wall. There were tears forming in her eyes. Dexter held onto her arm, and deep inside he hated himself for hurting her, but he couldn't stop, because he needed her to understand just how important it was for her to stop caring so much about him.

"Why? TELL ME!" He nearly screamed at her face, their foreheads mere inches away from each other.

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!" Debra screamed back, and now she was angry too. She was crying, but the anger was still there. "I love you, despite how fucked up and horrible you might be. I can't live without you, I never could, and that's why… I just want, for once, for you to feel the same!" She exclaimed, and she could feel Dexter's grip on her wrist loosen. She yanked her hand from him and held it close to her chest, sliding to a sitting position against the wall, the tears moistening her cheeks.

"Deb," Dexter breathed, crouching down in front of her, his voice gentle. He had calmed down, finally. His hands hang limply over his knees as he looked at her, and he tried to make sense of all of it. "You don't understand, Debra," he said, and the way he said his name was more than enough to catch her attention. "I'm not capable of love."

"I don't believe that," Debra sobbed, shaking her head with pursed lips.

"I've read up on psychopaths, Debra. We measure love in worth, and nothing else. I… I care so much about you because you're worth so much to me." He said. "That's not love, Debra. It's selfish, and it's horrible, and that's why… I need you to stop caring so much."

"Why am I worth so much to you, then?" Debra asked, trying to stop her tears from staining her cheeks even more. Her hand was still clutching at her hurt wrist.

"Because you've always been there for me. You've always kept me under control, you've always… made me realize that life might not be so bad after all. It's like, when I look at you, I… It's like my world gets brighter, you know? That's the value you have to me. You keep me calm. And that's why you matter to me. That's selfish."

"Dexter…" Debra started, looking at him with an incredulous look on her face. "Dexter, you have to stop filing yourself under the same category as a text-book psychopath. You're not like them. What you described right now, that's… that's exactly how _I _feel. Do you understand?"

Dexter looked at her. His eyes were narrowed, and he didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to believe. Was he not a psychopath? He'd always thought he was. Had he made himself believe his feelings weren't genuine because he thought it was impossible for them to be so?

"Look, Dex, you might not love me the way I love you. But I know that you genuinely care about me, as someone close to you… right?" She whispered. She should be afraid, but she wasn't. Dexter had been angry, which was more human than most other things.

"I do…" Dexter whispered, almost not believing his own words.

"You don't love me like that. I know that. But you care. You care, and you how to understand that. That's all that matters. I need… I need you." She said, her voice raspy and uncertain. "I need you to be here for me, because despite everything… at the end of the day, you're all I have. I'm not going to beg for you to fall in love with me. I'm not. As long as there's something there, then… that's okay…" She mumbled.

Her brother tilted his head, his eyes narrowing again, and then he stood up. He extended an arm to Debra, and she grabbed onto it with the arm that didn't hurt, and he pulled her up. They looked at each other like that for a while, and Dexter wanted to tell her that he did care, and that he would be there for her, because he had realized how much that meant to her. Even though she was messed up and broken, that was better than being a suicidal mess. But he couldn't say it. His hand went to the collar of her white suit shirt, which was all she was wearing on her top after having removed the suit jacket and tie upon getting home. Her eyes widened, and he shoved her against the wall once more.

"Dex," she uttered, her breathing ragged and surprised, and he held her there. Her hand flew to his, grabbing at his wrist, as if trying to calm him down. She wasn't trying to force him off, but rather pleading for him to understand what he was doing. He pushed her harder against the wall.

"I do. I have to." He said. "Unless, of course… you tell me to stop." He whispered. What? Debra didn't understand. His eyes locked with hers, and they were intense, animalistic… hungry. She swallowed hard.

"Dex, wha- Mmf!" Her voice was cut short as Dexter kissed her hard on the lips, and it felt as if the world around her had just stopped. Hadn't he just confirmed that he didn't feel anything like that towards her? Maybe this was just pure lust? It should make her angry, infuriated, but it didn't. Not at all.

Dexter suddenly pulled back, and he looked surprised, shocked with himself for what he had just done. "I… you're…" He was about to say something, apologize maybe. But Debra wouldn't have it.

"Just shut your fucking mouth," she growled, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in, her lips feverishly pushing against his. Dexter's mind was filled with all these emotions he couldn't control. Regret, for hurting Debra. Confusion, about currently kissing his own sister. Who the fuck did that to their own sister?

But the fact that she responded so nicely made all his rationality go out of the window and he replied to her kiss in plenty, growls escaping his throat as they kissed, their lips parting and their tongues twirling together in and between their mouths.

This was like nothing Dexter had ever felt before. He had never wanted something like this so much, and the same feelings were apparent with Debra. But none of them held back. None of them were gentle with each other. Debra's hands tugged at Dexter's hair as they made out feverishly, the lush feelings of his lips on hers making her cheeks burn with warmth and redness. She had even reached a point where the pain in her wrist had started to kind of turn her on. Even Debra hadn't realized how wild she could be before she got with Dexter.

She was thanking the gods that Dexter had also taken of his suit jacket, making it all so much easier. She grabbed his tie and tugged at it to get him closer, biting softly onto his lips before she started undoing his tie. After loosening it, she pushed Dexter away by putting her hand to his chest and nudging firmly. He looked at her, almost stumbling backwards, and his expression was all kinds of exciting. He looked confused, but also wildly accepting of whatever it was that was going on.

His eyes lingered on her, on her face, and the devious grin on her face as she walked towards him and slipped the tie over his head, tossing it to the side. Her breath was heavy, and Dexter could swear he saw steam rising from her hair. Dexter was done fighting it now. Why should he? But part of him still automatically refused.

"Deb," he breathed, his voice betraying his words. "We're siblings…"

"Who the fuck cares?" Debra huffed as she hurriedly started unbuttoning Dexter's shirt. "You're a fucking serial killer Dexter. This kind of thing shouldn't worry you at all." She grinned. She finished unbuttoning his shirt and pushed it a little to the side to reveal his chiseled torso. Her fingers trailed over his chest, and her lips quivered. Dexter suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back against the wall. He was hungry for the dominance, to make her falter beneath his fury.

His face moved close to hers, and his lips was right above hers as his hands grabbed by the buttons of her shirt and tore it open, the buttons scattering around the floor. Just as he tore it open, Debra moaned suddenly and sweetly against his lips, a sort of roughness to her voice as she did so. Dexter felt the need rising inside of him when she moaned. He kissed her full on the mouth again, and Debra took the chance to pull Dexter's shirt over his shoulder and let it drop to the ground before she slipped out of her own shirt. She didn't even hesitate to reach behind her back and unclasp her bra, and as soon as it was off, Dexter cupped her breast in his hand, kneading and massaging it as they kissed. She let out several muffled moans, sounds which made Dexter's pulse throb in his throat. He could practically feel his own jugular.

He suddenly broke the kiss and moved down to Debra's neck, biting on it. He didn't even know where that instinct came from, and he realized in the middle of doing it that it was probably a bad idea. At least he didn't bite too hard. But he was wrong.

As his teeth threatened to pierce Debra's skin, she groaned loudly, a high pitch yelped following right after, and Dexter could tell that it was one of pleasure. Debra wrapped her arms around Dexter's shoulders and her hands tugged at his hair, trying to find somewhere to hold onto as he nibbled and sucked at her neck, but then he moved further down, and his lips wrapped around her nipple and she nearly shouted in surprise. Inside her was a feeling that this was somehow wrong. Even though she wanted it so much, she felt that it was happening too fast. But she didn't care, because in that moment, she had the attention she wanted from her brother. Finally.

Dexter nibbled carefully at her nipple at the same time as he slid her skirt down her legs, leaving her only in her girl-boxers and black stockings that reached her thighs. She lifted her feet one by one and kicked her skirt away. Her hands went from Dexter's hair to his waist as she started fumbling with his belt buckle. It didn't take long before his pants were on the floor, and then it happened. She wasn't really prepared for it, but she couldn't exactly say she had anything against it. Dexter bent down and put his hand under her knees, before putting the other on her back.

He picked her up and carried her towards the bedroom, and even though it was silly, Debra couldn't help but to think of the fact that this was the way a man would usually carry his bride. Dexter lay her down on her bed before climbing in after her, hurriedly catching her lips in another kiss.

He liked the rough part of it all, but he wanted to show that he could be gentle too. But what he didn't really realize was that Debra wasn't exactly the gentle type. Especially not when she was as turned on as she was then.

Debra wrapped her arms around him, and held tightly onto his back as he kissed her, and her kiss was intense and rough, and Dexter realized just how futile it would be to try and be gentle with her. It just wouldn't do. He hurriedly kissed his way down her stomach, and his lips lingered by her underwear before she suddenly started pushing them down, not afraid to show how much she wanted him. He obliged happily as her underwear was tossed somewhere on the floor, and his hungrily placed his mouth at her crotch.

She was so extremely warm, and already soaking to the very edge. He licked and sucked on her folds, his finger finding its way inside of her, and he could feel just how slick and soft she was in there, and she moaned sweetly as his finger explored her insides. She lifted her legs to remove her stockings, and then, she was completely naked. Dexter kept licking and sucking until Debra's moans were becoming desperate, shouting.

He sat up, and looked down at her sweaty body, her mouth that hung wide open, her heavy breath that made her bare chest heave up and down. And god, she was so beautiful. She reached her arms out to him, and he leaned down and they kissed each other deeply, lovingly, and suddenly this didn't seem so bad anymore. Suddenly, Dexter had accepted Debra, and he wanted to show her how much she meant to him. Debra was desperately and impatiently trying to tug at Dexter's boxers, and he helped her get it off eventually. Debra barely even dared to look. She'd been with several men before, some with gear bigger than others, but she had also realized that size doesn't always matter. It only contributes a little to the feeling and all that, so it shouldn't matter all that much.

Debra raised her head, and she looked. Oh. Oh, okay. She threw one glance at his hard cock, and she threw her head back in a loud moan, even though he hadn't done anything yet. She giggled huskily, and she could feel her entire body tingling. "Oh, my god, Dexter," she moaned, pulling him down to kiss him once more. "I have never," she mumbled between kisses, "ever," she gasped, "seen such a big dick."

Dexter could feel himself blushing a little, but he couldn't help himself from smirking. "And I've never seen someone as beautiful as you," he said, which ultimately caught Debra completely off guard. She blushed, and squirmed.

"Oh god, I love you," she mumbled, suddenly flustered and embarrassed. She pulled Dexter down to her level and put her lips on his ear. She wanted to make his heart jump in his chest. "Fuck me, Dexter," she whispered, and she used her hand to bring his tip onto her opening, making her moan softly into his ear. Dexter was completely speechless, and they both moaned in unison as Debra suddenly wrapped her legs around Dexter's waist and pulled him all the way inside of her.

She instantly felt completely full, her body shivering pleasantly. "Oh god, Deb," Dexter groaned, looking her in the eyes. She kissed him once on the mouth and smiled softly.

"Don't hold back, Dex," she whispered, and that was all it took. Dexter pulled partly out of Debra and slammed back in, going at it viciously from the very start. From Debra's reaction, he had completely confirmed that she liked it rough. He wasn't actually all that surprised about it, either. She was just that kind of person. He pounded her with all his might, and she didn't just moan – she screamed.

"Ah! Ah! DEXTER!" She screamed, her fingernails making scratch marks on his back. Even though Debra was slowly but surely losing herself in the pleasure, she just had to be the funny one. She composed herself a little, and spoke, even though every other word was hitched and sudden due to Dexter repeatedly pounding his dick inside of her. "L-Look at.. nh.. you…" She giggled, looking him right in the eyes. "Fucking your… ahn! Sister… so vigorously!" She exclaimed, arching her back as her first orgasm washed over her, her entire body making spasms because of the pleasure.

"You're enjoying it just as much as I do, stupid," he chuckled, moaning right afterwards as her insides tightened around him. He thrust one last time before pulling out of her, and as she shook violently she turned on her stomach and popped her ass into the air, hoisting herself up on her knees with her face buried in a pillow. Her voice was muffled as she moaned out.

"No time to rest, Dexter."

Dexter didn't even hesitate to take a hold of her hips and shove his hard length inside of her from behind, admiring the way her perfect ass rocked back and forth as he pummeled her insides. The slapping noises of their thighs coming together became rhythmic, and suddenly, a word started appearing in Dexter's mind.

_Why?_

"Oh yeah, just like that!" Debra screamed, bringing her ass back to meet him halfway there.

_Why? Why did she forgive me? I hurt her. I snapped at her, and I hurt her, and she forgave me so easily, and now this is happening. I don't deserve this. I hurt her. I hurt the one person I swore to always protect no matter what._

He hadn't realized that the word was starting to escape his mouth. "Why?" He whispered, and Debra could feel the sudden uncertainty in his thrusts. She suddenly sat up and wrapped her arm back around his neck, her back pushing against his front. She twisted her head to look at him, and she could see that his eyes were red.

"Dexter," she whispered. "Dexter, don't worry," she continued, and she knew why he was like that. He was blaming himself. He felt guilty. "Dexter, I'm here. I forgive you. I understand, okay? I understand, because I love you, and because I've already decided that… that we will _always _be together, okay? I love you, Dexter. I love you." She whispered, and she repeated it over and over again. "I love you."

Their love-making was much calmer now, but also more intense in its own way. Debra ground her hips, her ass pushing against Dexter's crotch as he kept entering her, much slower now. She rolled her hips, and he did the same, in perfect unison, and she clung onto him, looking him deeply in the eyes. The position was a bit difficult, but it was intimate. Her back was turned on him, but she trusted him. More than anything.

"I'm sorry," Dexter whispered, looking into Debra's eyes. "I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused you."

"Don't worry, Dexter," she replied, smiling softly. "Starting from today… mmm…" She moaned sweetly. "You'll start making up for it, okay? Be… be mine, Dexter… no one else's."

Dexter didn't even have to answer. He wrapped his arms around Debra's waist, and they kissed softly and carefully. This night hadn't turned out as Dexter had thought it would. But it had turned out much better.

* * *

A/N: So, there it was. I had them do it. It just felt like the right time, for some reason, even after all that angst. And just to clear this up, there will be many more sex scenes between these two, but not necessarily ones that are so emotionally detailed as this one was. This was the initial one, so I had to focus a lot on the details.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Just typed up a short chapter that doesn't really have anything to say. I guess this is sort of a filler, but also a little to add some complications, though I do solve them again in the same chapter. I just wrote this because I was bored, and I didn't really have time to write anything long.

* * *

There are times in life where you will feel like you have made the most terrible mistake you could ever think of, and you realize you have no idea how to fix it. No idea how to explain it. And no idea how to make yourself accept that it actually happened.

When Dexter woke up early that morning, that was exactly what he felt. He looked at his sister, who was right next to him, and he hated himself for thinking that she looked beautiful. He hated himself for having put those love bites on her, and he hated himself for doing the things he'd done to her. He'd defiled her, and hurt her, in a moment when she was weak. She probably didn't really want any of those things to happen, and especially not with her brother. He'd broken her, and when he had sworn to fix her, he'd only made it worse.

And that's why he snuck out of bed before Debra woke up, put his clothes on, and left her house. He figured that working on the case with the killer who counted could take his mind off of things, until he found out what to do with the Deb situation. There had to be something, but he had no idea what it was. He'd messed up, that was for sure. If only he'd realized that before he went as far as he went.

_She collapsed on top of her brother with a final, exhausted moan, as he released inside of her, his hot sperm making her warm and fuzzy on the inside. Her head rested on his chest, and she was smiling softly up at him before she felt her eyes getting weary, and she fell asleep just like that._

Dexter banged his head against the steering wheel in an attempt to take his mind off of it, something that didn't really help at all. He went back to his apartment to keep researching the case, hoping to find something on where the next location could be. But there were so many places with the number three in their name, so it wasn't exactly easy. He was already convinced that he wouldn't be able to find it on time. But at least it was a good distraction.

…

Debra yawned softly as she woke up, automatically reaching out to wrap herself around Dexter, which resulted in her noticing that he was gone. Her eyes blinked open, and she looked around. Right, he had a tendency to get up early. She got out of bed and pulled on a pair of panties before walking into the kitchen. No Dexter. No anyone.

She swallowed heavily and picked her phone off of the kitchen counter, dialing his number. It called for a few seconds before she was redirected to voice mail. Had he dismissed her call?

"Hey, Dex, it's me… uhm… call me?" She asked before hanging up, her lips quivering nervously. She should have known. She should have realized that he wouldn't be comfortable with it, that he wouldn't accept her even after all that. But she had been stupid enough not to see it coming. She pursed her lips with a deep breath before heading to the bathroom to get a shower before heading off to work. She'd have to wear some clothes that covered pretty much everything if she wanted to hide the fact that she had bite marks pretty much everywhere.

…

Debra parked her car outside of the police station and walked inside at a brisk pace, trying to get to the homicide floor as quickly as possible. As the elevator doors opened and she stepped out, she could see that Dexter's office was empty. She tried to bite down the bitterness inside her before she started walking towards her office. She heard a few people complimenting her speech the day before, but she did her best to avoid any long conversations before she locked herself in her office. Dexter didn't show up for work that entire day, and Debra still couldn't get a hold of him on the phone. What was she supposed to do now? She had absolutely no idea, and she was starting to feel more and more afraid of what would happen to her and Dexter's relationship. Had she made a mistake?

…

The next day came around, and sure enough, there was another body found at the Three Leaves Pool Center. Debra knew that Dexter would have to show up for that crime scene, and that he'd probably most like want to show up. And if he didn't, she could threaten to fire him… but she probably wouldn't go that far.

But as they gathered at the crime scene and Debra saw Dexter over the body, inspecting the three teeth that had been torn out of the victim's mouth, she could see a certain coldness on his face. As if he didn't care about anything, as if… as if he no longer had a conscience at all.

After doing a quick check of credentials on the body, they had found that he was indeed 21 years old, just as Dexter had suspected. Things were starting to add up, but finding the guy who did it was still proving to be quite difficult.

As Dexter started walking back towards his car after finishing at the crime scene, Debra wanted to pull him aside and ask him what the fuck he was doing. Why he was ignoring her, and why he had suddenly changed his mind about the relationship between the two of them. But she was afraid of what he might say, even though he had promised that he was the one who would make things up to her. He'd promised, when they were connected the night before. And she had believed him.

But she wasn't the one to approach him. No, it turned out to be the other way around. She had been spacing out, and hadn't even noticed Dexter approaching her. "Deb?" He asked, and she snapped back to reality, her eyes instantly locking onto Dexter. She was speechless, so Dexter just kept talking. "Did you drive here yourself?"

"N-No, I… uhm, I caught a ride with Batista." She said.

"Alright, would you, uh… come with me for a drive? I think we need to talk," he said, and he knew that saying it just like it was would be the easiest way to get her to follow. She nodded hesitantly, and they both silently got into Dexter's car, driving away from the crime scene. He drove to an almost empty parking place outside of an abandoned mall, just so that they would have a little bit of privacy to talk. "I'll get straight to the point," Dexter said, looking at Debra. "I'm sorry for ignoring your calls yesterday. Really, I am… but I needed to give you some time away from me. _I _needed some time away from me, if that makes any sense."

"Why?" Debra asked simply, looking at Dexter with a dead expression on her face, but it was threatening to become sad. Or angry. "Why couldn't you just have stayed with me? Why does it have to be so fucking difficult?" She gulped, and her voice was shaking. "I thought I finally had you, and then… and then you just…"

"I defiled you," Dexter uttered with an incredulous look on his face, shaking his head a little from side to side as if he was surprised that Debra didn't seem angry at him. "I took advantage of you when you were in a weak position, and I hurt you. My own sister, the one I swore to protect."

"So what you're saying is that you left because you thought it was best for me?" She asked, looking at him with a dumbfounded expression.

"Yeah… pretty much." Dexter replied, narrowing his eyes as if it was already fairly obvious.

"Dexter, you also promised to make it up to me, remember? All the pain you've caused me?"

"Well what about this, huh? What I did to you, I can never repair that-"

"You didn't hurt me," Debra said, cutting him off mid-sentence. "What you did to me two days ago… that was the happiest moment I've experienced in months."

Dexter's eyes widened a little. Was she serious?

"When I said I wanted you to be mine, and only mine… I really fucking meant that, Dexter. I don't fucking care if I'm your sister and that we grew up together… shit, that only gave me time to love you even more." She said with a sad laugh. Dexter swallowed heavily and looked at his lap, trying to sort out his thoughts.

"So you're sure that… that having this kind of relationship, you and I… it's what you really want?" He asked. He didn't even dare to look up again. He heard the sound of Debra shifting in her seat, and then she grabbed the little wheel next to Dexter's seat which made it lean backwards. He turned to look at her, but she was already crawling over the gearshift, effectively keeping Dexter in place by straddling his lap.

"Does this answer your fucking question?" She asked with a sly smirk, nibbling playfully at Dexter's lip. "You should apologize, you know… for ignoring me like that. I was kind of angry."

"Deb, I'm sorry," Dexter said in a low tone. Yeah, he definitely couldn't be mad at her for wanting this. He'd broken her, and if this was what it took for her to be fixed, then so be it.

"No, not like that." Debra shook her head, her finger trailing down Dexter's chest. "You know, I'm pretty glad I wore a long skirt instead of jeans today." She chuckled. Dexter tilted his head in confusion, but then he noticed Debra's fingers working with the zipper on his pants. God, he hoped no one was looking at their car. Debra managed to get Dexter's dick out of his pants quite quickly, and she could already feel it getting hard in her hand. "You should get used to this, Dexter," she whispered as she moved her face closer to his, using one hand to shift her underwear aside under her skirt. She started lowering herself onto him. "I'm a very… nh… needy person," she chuckled huskily as he entered her, once again filling her to the very brim.

She caught Dexter's lip in a deep kiss, which Dexter returned in plenty before breaking it off to speak. "Oh, trust me," he mumbled with a raspy voice, a tiny smile playing at the edges of his mouth. "I can be needy too." He said as rocked his hips against Debra's, and their moans eventually filled the silence that had once littered the car.


End file.
